


Falling Is Like This

by sev313



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2011-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/sev313
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Leddy is gay. He’s also on the brink of making it to the NHL. He thinks he’s reconciled these things. Until he meets Jeremy Morin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Is Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between Rookie Development Camp in June and World Junior Champions in January. I’ve kept it mostly accurate, although I’ve fudged a bit on the types of players that show up at Rookie Development Camp. Just go with me for that, yeah?
> 
> Written for the 2011 reallybigsticks Mini Big Bang LJ challenge.

**Part One. Rookie Development Camp. July 17, 2010. Chicago, IL.**

Nick Leddy has a bruise on his left thigh. Right where the padding in his pants meets his jock-strap, and he knows how sketchy it looks that he keeps rubbing himself there, but it’s turning purple and it hurts like hell and if he applies pressure _right there_ then it hurts a little less.

There are really too many people in here right now for anyone to take notice of him, anyway. They’ve opened the door between Kyle Beach’s room and Jake Dowell’s, so in theory there are two rooms. Except, Dowell’s rooming with Corey Crawford, and Crow’s a goalie and weird and stuff, so he goes to bed at 9 and is huddled under the covers in the bed closest to the wall, doing a good imitation of tuning them out. Most of the boys feel guilty enough to leave things be and avoid the room. The Nintendo is in Beach’s room anyway, so no one’s complaining. Which leaves 18 nineteen to twenty year-old-boys crammed into one room at the Chicago Marriott, a quite nice hotel when it doesn’t smell like beer and sweat and teenager.

The whole idea of rookie camp is a little strange to Nick. It’s July, early July, so it’s blisteringly hot and humid and most of the Blackhawks organization is traipsing around the world with the Cup. Still, they amble over to Johnny’s IceHouse everyday and compete as if the whole world is watching. Which is weird, ‘cause this is training camp for fuck’s sake, _rookie_ training camp, and no one’s supposed to care about this.

Except, well, the fans have been reinvigorated by the first Stanley Cup won in forty-nine years and Nick figures that if three million people went to the _parade_ , at least half of them tried to cram into the bleachers at Johnny’s today to watch a bunch of kids fight to take one of the eleven spots opened due to salary cap restrictions on a team salivating to repeat for the first time in Hawks history.

Nick thrives on the nerves and the excitement, but even he thinks it’s a little bit much, as he presses down on the bruise on his thigh and teethes his lip to bite back a hiss. At least he doesn’t have a black eye, like Beach does after his fight with Kurtz. Scrimmage is supposed to be fun, where they can show off and deke at times when they never could in a game, but any fan would be forgiven if he thought that the Stanley Cup was theirs to win or lose on the ice this afternoon. And, Nick can’t lie, he got into it. He’s a competitive guy, and the nerves and the emotions got to him.

Or maybe he just needs to get laid.

He presses on his thigh again and there’s a tap on his shoulder and he jumps, blushing, and tares his hand away as he looks up to see his old friend Nick Mattson grinning at him. Asshole.

“Having fun?”

“Bruise,” Nick mumbles, but there’s some screaming from the vicinity of the TV and he assumes that Matts doesn’t hear him. “I said-”

Matts shakes his head, waving at the TV, and motions for Nick to follow him into the other room. Nick sighs, groaning when he puts weight on his leg, and hobbles a little pathetically into the next room, where it’s amazingly quiet and calm in comparison. Except that Crawford’s trying to sleep and Nick feels a little bad about that.

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, let him sleep?”

“What?” Matts follows his gaze and shrugs his shoulders. “Crow? He can sleep through anything.”

“Um-” Nick feels weird and a little bit voyeuristic being in here, just Matts and Crow and another guy sitting on the unoccupied bed, but Matts just takes his elbow and leads him over.

“There’s someone you should meet. Nick, this is Jeremy Morin.” He motions to the guy on the bed, who looks really familiar and he knows they’ve played together on US junior teams, but he’s never actually been introduced to the kid.

Nick holds out his hand. “Nick Leddy.”

“I know. Matts has told me a lot about you.” The kid shakes his hand and it’s strong and a little big clammy. “Jeremy, by the way.”

Matts claps them both on the back. “Sit. Chat. You’ll be fast friends. Promise.” Matts winks at Nick as he leaves, and Nick groans, but there’s nothing he can really do about it with this kid staring at him with big, wide raccoon eyes and Nick settles on the bed next to him, flinching as his thigh hits the mattress a little hard.

“Fuck.”

The kid glances down at his thigh. “I saw you do that. Nice shot block.”

“Thanks.” Nick shifts. “Hurts like a mother fucker.”

“I bet.” The kid – _Jeremy_ – grins and it’s wide and shows all his teeth and fuck if Matts wasn’t right after all.

“So, how do you know Matts?”

“Under-18 team. They made us roommates. Hated him ‘til he moved out, but then we became good friends. You?”

Nick shrugs. “We go way back. One time, we must have been fourteen, fifteen years old, we were roommates at a tournament up in Winnipeg. He got me to help him put whip cream mustaches on everyone. I figured I was safe, having helped him and all, and I got halfway through breakfast before Coach pointed it out to me.”

Jeremy laughs. It’s light and easy and conspiratorial and Nick smiles at him, settling into the mattress. “Terrible roommate.”

“Who you rooming with here?”

Jeremy waves towards the other room. “Makarov. Beach is teaching him Mario Kart.”

Nick laughs. “He’s good.”

“I know.” Jeremy glances around, as if making sure that there’s no one here with them, except Crow, and apparently the goalie really can sleep through anything. “You think you have a chance to make it?”

Nick shrugs and they’re sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. “Maybe. There’re some good guys here.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy frowns and Nick bumps his shoulder. He thinks he’d do almost anything to make the kid smile again. Fuck Matts.

“You’re scrappy. Coaches like that.”

Jeremy blushes. “I get angry sometimes.” He pouts his lips and Nick chuckles, forgetting about his thigh and bending his knee, swearing.

“You should put some ice on that.”

“I’m fine.”

Jeremy shakes his head and gets up. Nick watches him as he bends to reach the small fridge/freezer combo set up in the corner. It’s not strictly legal to have one in a hotel room, but they’re hockey players and ice packs are part of the package, so he’s not surprised when Jeremy climbs back on the bed, holding up the pack triumphantly.

Nick reaches for it, but Jeremy isn’t paying any attention to him, focused on the ice pack and pressing it against Nick’s thigh. Nick closes his eyes, focusing on the cold seeping through the very thin layer of his pants, and not on how much he’d like it if Jeremy’s hand slipped just a couple inches higher.

“Um, sorry.” Nick opens his eyes to see Jeremy peering up at him, biting his lip. Nick drops his hand to hold the ice in place, and Jeremy scoots back on the bed, his face red. “Keep that on for twenty minutes.”

Nick rolls his eyes, grinning. “I know. How many of these do you think I’ve had?”

“Lots?”

“Yep.” Nick shifts so that their shoulders are touching again. It’s stupid and it’s dangerous, but he doesn’t really care when Jeremy seems to settle down again at the contact.

“So, who’d you play for last year?”

“University of Minnesota. I’m from there.”

“Really?” Jeremy grins and practically starts bouncing. Nick raises an eyebrow at him.

“Um, yes?”

“Sorry.” He settles back against the pillows, but he’s still grinning. “I’ve always loved Minnesota.”

“Why?” Nick knows he sounds incredulous, but he racks his brain and can’t think of anything that would make someone want to grow up in his hometown.

Jeremy shrugs. “I love snow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jeremy bites his lip but Nick doesn’t back down and, eventually, Jeremy sighs. “Fine.” He bites his lip, dropping his head and speaking quickly. “I like _The Mighty Ducks_.”

Nick laughs. Real, true, from his belly laughs.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, I-” Nick tries to get his breathe back, but really can’t stop laughing. “It’s just - that’s _ridiculous_.”

“Fuck you.”

Nick sucks in a breath, holding his chest as it aches from laughing. “Sorry.” He grins. “That’s adorable. It really is.”

Jeremy shoves him and crosses his arms. “Everyone loves _The Mighty Ducks_.”

“Sure.”

“They do.”

“I believe you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Do you have any other insults?”

“Yes.” Jeremy frowns. “I just can’t think of any right now.”

Nick laughs again, twisting his leg and his thigh feels numb and damp. He lifts off the ice pack. “I think it’s been twenty minutes.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy glances at the clock. It’s late, much later than they should be up since they have to skate again in the morning. “It seems to be getting quieter in there.”

Nick realizes that he hasn’t thought about the other room for a while now and, tilting his head, he doesn’t hear much going on in there. “Guess we better get to bed, huh?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I guess.” He reaches over and takes the ice pack from Nick’s hand, hopping up to drop it in the bathroom sink. It’s a nice gesture and, suddenly, Nick needs to leave _right now_.

“It was really nice to meet you, yeah?” Jeremy’s grinning at him, holding out his hand, and it’s somehow old-fashioned and gentlemanly and Nick’s chest aches.

“Yeah, yeah, it was.”

“Okay. Good night.” Jeremy smiles and waves and slips into his room back-first so that he can grin at Nick until the door closes.

Nick is so screwed.

 **Part II. Rookie Tournament. September 11-14, 2010. Toronto, On.**

“How was your flight?”

Nick looks up with his sock halfway on his foot. “Fine. You?”

Jeremy shrugs. He looks great, tan and toned and he did some nice work on his arms in the two months between rookie development camp and the rookie tournament. “I drove.”

“Right. How far’s Syracuse from here?”

“Five hours. If you drive slow.” Jeremy takes the stall next to him and starts pulling out clothes. “I don’t drive slow.”

It sounds reckless, dangerous, the way he says it and Nick laughs. “I’m sure.”

“You don’t believe me.” He’s pouting now, biting that lip, and text messages really do not do Jeremy Morin justice.

“Not really,” Nick admits and Jeremy hits him with an elbow pad. “Hey, watch it with the violence.”

“Whatever.” Jeremy slips on an Under Armor shirt. “You can take it.”

Nick snorts.

Jeremy rolls his eyes and pulls out his stick to start taping it. “I asked for us to room together.”

Nick shouldn’t be surprised. They’re friends, after all. Good friends, if four days at rookie camp and a summer of texting count as the beginnings of a friendship.

“I hope that’s okay.” Jeremy looks inexplicably nervous, and Nick kicks himself.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great.” Nick shakes his head. He’d be lying if he says that he hasn’t been waiting for this moment all week, this moment where they’re in the same room again and he can _look_ at Jeremy instead of imagining his expressions, and he grins. “It’s gonna be awesome.”  
***  
Nick has known what he’s wanted for a long time. When he was eight, one of the boys on his peewee hockey team had stolen an issue of Playboy and while the other boys had crowded around to ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ and make derogatory faces, all Nick had wanted to know is why their boobs looked so big.

When he was ten, he had invited the new neighbor kid over to play video games. His mom had made them hot cocoa with little marshmallows, and everything had been going well until the kid – his name was Matt, if Nick remembers correctly – had taken one look at the collage on his bedroom wall and asked why it was made up of X-Men and Nick Lidstrom posters.

“That’s what I’m in to.” Nick had said, and he had been naïve enough to point out Spiderman’s package. “Isn’t that cool? I want one like that someday.”

“Fag.” Matt had thrown the controller at him and his mother had come to pick him up while Nick spent five hours in the emergency room getting three stitches in his left eyebrow where the controller had hit just right and cut the skin. His mother had explained _fag_ in the nice way that mothers have of sugar coating nasty words for their young children, and Nick had walked away thinking it was a nice word for boys who like comic books and hockey players a whole lot more than they like string bikinis and pig-tails.

He didn’t think about it again, until the first night he got drunk. It was a chilly December evening in Minnesota, but the high school hockey team had a reputation for throwing the best beer bashes in the state, and Nick really never thought of it as hazing until years later. It had stopped feeling cold, anyway, by the time one of the older boys had pulled him out back and given him a handjob that left him feeling raw and chapped and better than he had ever felt in his life.

His mother had woken him up the next morning, three hours after he had stumbled in and fallen into bed. “I think I’m still drunk,” was the first thing he had said to her.

She had given him that look, the one that told him she was once a teenager, too, and that Nick could never do anything that would surprise her. “I know.” She had pulled back the covers and swatted at his hip to get him out of bed. “Go take a shower. I’m going to wash these.”

“I’m too tired to practice.”

“I don’t care.”

Nick had sighed, but there was never any point in arguing with her, so he had gotten as far as sitting at the edge of the bed, his feet barely touching the floor yet and his head spinning. “Also, I think I’m gay.”

“I know.” She hadn’t missed a beat, continuing to gather up his sheets and shoo him towards the bathroom.

“Okay.” Nick had said and that had been that.

Nick knows that he had gotten off easy. Coming out is usually the hardest thing in a young man’s life, but Nick has never had to tell anyone. His mother, when later pressed, had admitted that she’d known since he was three years old. His high school boyfriend had come on to him, and the boys he fooled around with at the University at Minnesota had just sort of fallen into bed with him.

Jeremy Morin is different.

There’s this _thing_ they’ve developed, this best friend thing that Nick’s never had before. He’s either been beat up, fucked, or just sort of ignored. He’s never had a best friend who jokes around with him in the locker room and then walks around in his boxer briefs in their hotel room, as if maybe Jeremy doesn’t _know_ about Nick, as if he doesn’t have the faintest clue that his best friend isn’t entirely straight.

It makes Nick feel dirty. When he comes back to the hotel after a long day of practice and weight training and a game, and falls into the shower with his hand on his dick and Jeremy in his mind, all skin and muscle stretching out from those boxer briefs as if he’s everything Nick’s ever wanted. And, maybe, he is, it’s just, well, Nick’s never been a professional hockey player before, either.

Professional hockey players, Nick’s been warned, are not gay.

Not openly, at least. He had wondered, often, at University if this idea of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ was just a rouse to get him on his knees in some dark storage room, but no one is out in the NHL. Nick had done a google search. And Nick just doesn’t quite know what to do with himself in a league that treats his homosexuality like a particularly nasty plaque that must be squashed out and, when that doesn’t quite work, locked up behind closed doors. Ignored.

Coaches turn a blind eye, he’s been told. Other players won’t hit you harder unless you _act_ particularly gay. Unless you say something, do something, inappropriate. Or unless you come across Chris Pronger or Sean Avery, but they’re all-around assholes and Nick has some ideas about why they feel the need to hit other guys so hard.

Nick knows he should keep his mouth shut. He’s never wanted something as much as he wants to play in the NHL, and if that means keeping his mouth shut, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he can do it. For a little while at least. Until Matts had had the gal to introduce him to Jeremy fucking Morin, that is.

Nick is a terrible liar. He’s never been good at it. His mother has always told him that he has the world’s worst poker face, and the best refuge for it is to just tell the truth, ‘cause it always comes out eventually. Jeremy is fast becoming his best friend, and Nick just isn’t comfortable lying about that.

It doesn’t help that he’s had a lot to drink tonight. Their last game ended hours ago, and they’re in Toronto, where the drinking age is nineteen, so the entire Blackhawks rookie team has staked out spots in one of Toronto’s flashiest clubs. It’s loud, the music setting a rhythm in the floorboards, and half the team is on the dance floor dancing as only teenage hockey players can dance.

Nick is content to lean back against the cushions and listen with one ear as Beach reenacts the hit he made in the game earlier. His shoulder is pressed into Jeremy’s. Jeremy, who is leaning back against the cushions and drinking something that is pink and orange and he says reminds him of sunsets in Hawaii, as if he’d rather be in Hawaii than Toronto, which Nick knows is a bald-faced lie but he smiles anyway and allows Jeremy to have this one. ‘Cause Jeremy looks adorable, his eyes shining with the alcohol, his cheeks red and his lips pressed together as he peers at Nick.

Nick shifts, feeling a shiver of warmth slip down his spine. “What?”

Jeremy tilts his head, as if contemplating for a moment, before smiling. “Wanna dance?”

“I’m not very good.” Nick warns.

“I don’t care.”

Jeremy’s palm is clammy, rough from his hockey gloves and still smelling a little like months of built-up sweat, as he pulls at Nick and drags him to the center of the dance floor. Nick knows that this is something he should be good at, as a proud member of the gay community or whatever, but his muscles have always seemed built for hockey rather than dancing. When he moves his arms it sort of looks like he’s trying to crosscheck Jeremy and his legs are braced shoulder-length apart as if he might try to hit someone at any minute.

Jeremy, the asshole, is a natural, swaying his hips and leaning in close to scream in Nick’s ear over the noise. “You’re terrible.”

“I told you,” Nick screams back, but Jeremy just shakes his head and rests his hands on Nick’s hips.

“Let me,” he says into Nick’s ear and it’s a puff of hot air that lingers against the shell of his ear, a tiny laugh that grounds Nick enough to not go completely hard right there. Which would be a problem, ‘cause Jeremy is staring down, looking at his hands as they move Nick’s hips to make them sway in time with the music and Nick feels Jeremy’s heartbeat in his fingertips where they brush against the skin above Nick’s low-riding pants and Nick can’t tell where the bass beat ends and Jeremy’s heartbeat begins and his own heart pounds to keep rhythm with both.

“See?” Nick looks up to see Jeremy grinning at him. “You just needed a little help.”

Nick can’t breath. There isn’t enough oxygen going to his head and if he doesn’t _do_ something he’s just going to fall over and Jeremy’s going to have to catch him and he’s going to feel his hardness and that is exactly the way Nick _doesn’t_ want him to find out.

“Come with me.” Nick doesn’t lean forward to shout in Jeremy’s ear, doesn’t think he’d be able to stay standing if he did, so Jeremy is left to read his lips and he frowns. Nick shakes his head, pointing up, to the lights and the music, and he wraps his fingers around Jeremy’s and tugs. Nick pulls him bodily through the press of bodies until they’re in a hallway that’s at least a little darker and empty, except for the giggling, drunken couples that keep pushing past, and Nick thinks how much easier this would all be if he could be one of those couples, but he _cares_ about Jeremy and that’s all that really matters.

Another couple comes rushing past, and Nick is pushed so that he’s pressing Jeremy tight against the wall and willing his dick to remember that they’re _best friends_ despite this position they’re in right now. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Jeremy does that thing again, the thing where he bites his lip and Nick is momentarily distracted as his eyes are drawn to the spot. Until Jeremy raises a hand to his ear and pulls on it gently to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I-” Jeremy looks _worried_ and Nick feels terrible, ‘cause they really should have had this conversation that first night and Nick suddenly has the terrifying feeling that maybe it’s _too late_. “Um, I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“I should have told you months ago. I’m sorry.”

“Nick.” Jeremy’s voice is calm, too calm for the situation and the number of girly drinks he’s had this evening, and Nick swallows.

“I’m gay.” He’s never said it before, not to someone who doesn’t already know, and he doesn’t know any other way to say it.

“Oh.” Jeremy goes still. The bass beat thrumming through them feeling weird and off-kilter as Jeremy’s body fights against it and Nick feels like he might just fall again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna kill Matts.”

There were many things Nick was expecting, hundreds of possible scenarios culled from other experiences he’s been told about and all the “Coming Out” columns he read as a teenager in _The Advocate_ , but that wasn’t one of them. His own body feels limp with surprise, uncertainty, and he doesn’t know what to do, so when Jeremy pushes him back and slips under his arm, Nick follows his lead and lets him go.

He knows it was the wrong call the minute he does it. Knows he should have followed him, made sure he’s alright, ‘cause they’re in a strange city and Nick knows that Jeremy’s had more to drink than Nick has and _Nick_ has a hard time remembering the name of the hotel as he stumbles into a cab.

Their room is a mess. Four days of being too tired to do anything more than fall into bed and fight for control of the remote has left little time for cleaning, and Nick’s is suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of stale sweat and he stumbles to the window to throw it open. There’s a little balcony out there, and he collapses into the chair, pulling his phone out and dialing Jeremy’s number. Again.

“Look, Jeremy, I know why you don’t want to talk to me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. Or, not that way or something. But, I didn’t know what else to do and – shit, I’m sorry, okay. If you never want to talk to me again, that’s fine, just, text me and tell me you’re not in a ditch somewhere. Please.”

He’s left at least eight of the same messages in varying degrees of self-recrimination, and he knows it’s futile. He knows that if Jeremy were willing to talk to him, he’d have contacted him already. He’s even resorted to leaving his phone number in case Jeremy somehow lost it between the thousands of texts they’ve sent all summer and an hour ago.

The worst part is, he knows this is his fault. If he would just keep his mouth shut, if he had subscribed to ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ everything would be fine. He’d probably be in the shower by now, fantasizing about his best friend while said best friend was passed out on the bed, where Nick could watch him and know that he’s safe. It terrifies him, that the next call he could get could be from the Toronto Police Department or, worse, from the hospital, some nurse telling him that he got his number from Jeremy’s phone and could he please come down immediately.

Nick’s chest hurts. He’s been naïve, _so_ naïve, and everyone’s warned him but he just couldn’t bring himself to listen and now Jeremy might be paying the price. This is one of those turning points, one of those times where he feels out-of-body, as if he might never fit inside his own skin again. It’s terrifying and Toronto in September is warm, but he shivers and crosses his arms across his chest as if, just maybe, if he holds hard enough, he might be able to keep himself in.  
***  
The door opens. It could be hours, minutes later and Nick wouldn’t know except that the sun is just starting to peak over the Toronto skyline and Nick is out of his chair, barreling across the room and engulfing Jeremy in a hug that takes Jeremy off his feet.

“Breathing.” Jeremy ekes out. “Breathing, good.”

Nick drops him, stepping away and leaving Jeremy to steady himself against the door as he closes it again. Nick shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re all right. I-” he swallows, “I thought you might be dead and that I’d have to go ID your body and I couldn’t bear that and, well, you’re here and you have all your limbs so, I’m going to get out of your way.” He says it all in one breath and he doesn’t look up until Jeremy stops him with a hand on his chest as he tries to scoot past him and out the door.

“You’ve watched way too many episodes of CSI.” Jeremy says, and even without looking Nick can tell that he’s smiling.

But, no, that can’t be right. Jeremy can’t be smiling. He can be hurt or he can be very, very angry and those are the only options Nick could come up with in the hours sitting out on the balcony. Jeremy seems to be very good at rattling Nick’s assumptions, and the question vomits out of Nick’s mouth before he can stop it. “You’re _smiling_. You were wandering around a strange city all night, and I thought you were raped or murdered or, or - I thought you were dead and I left you fifteen messages, and you’re _smiling_.”

Nick would have thought that he’d have learned to think before he speaks after tonight, but, apparently not, and Jeremy isn’t smiling anymore as he pushes back from the door and sits on his bed, toeing off his shoes and refusing to look at Nick. “I’m fine. I just needed some time to think. And I know this city. I grew up a few hours away and I’ve been here hundreds of times. Remember?”

“I’d forgotten that.” Nick feels foolish, but Jeremy doesn’t seem to be either running away or punching him, and Nick is exhausted, so he sits down on the other bed. “I’m really sorry I told you.”

Jeremy sighs, running a hand through his hair and finally, finally looking at Nick. “No, you shouldn’t be. I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. It wasn’t fair.”

Nick shrugs. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Would you shut up for a minute?” Jeremy shakes his head, but he’s wearing a half-amused smile and Nick nods, his eyes wide. “Good.” Jeremy shuffles his feet. “It wasn’t fair of me to react that way, ‘cause I’ve kinda suspected all along that Matts was playing a joke on us.”

Nick frowns. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Matts?”

Jeremy clears his throat. “Matts is the only one in the world who knows that I’m gay.”

“What?” Nick is stupefied, bewildered, and the last two and a half months shift and refocus and, when they’re done, they look utterly different than they had five minutes ago. Nick’s jaw drops. “Matts was setting us up?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I suspected so, but I never asked, ‘cause, well, I didn’t want to know.” Nick frowns and Jeremy runs a hand through his hair again, and it’s beginning to take on the wild, just-got-done-with-a-nap look that makes Nick’s heart ache. “I’ve never told anyone. Matts only knew ‘cause he walked in on me in juniors. I’ve always been told that you can’t be gay and play hockey and I love hockey so-” Jeremy drops his head into his hands and peers up at Nick through his eyelashes and he looks so utterly terrified that Nick wants to drop to the floor and close the space between them, but he doesn’t dare.

“I never thought that it was worth it, you know? I’ve never met anyone worth the risk, and Matts always said that I would, someday. But not _now_. And, fuck,” Jeremy chuckles brokenly and Nick’s eyes slide shut at the sound, “Matts was right and _fuck him_.”

Nick doesn’t know what to say, but he hasn’t been able to get Jeremy out of his mind for weeks and, “I was so scared. Last night, when I thought you were gone, I was _so scared_.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy whispers. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Nick slips from the bed, closing the distance between them and bracketing Jeremy’s face with his hands. “I’m going to kiss you right now,” which is sort of a foregone conclusion, but Nick doesn’t want to scare him away as he leans forward and their lips touch.

It’s feather-light, barely a touch, and Nick holds there until he can’t breath anymore and he has to pull away. Jeremy’s eyes slip open, and they’re large and blue and he nods and Nick pushes Jeremy’s knees apart gently so that he can rest between them. This time, he lets his hands go to the back of Jeremy’s head as he pulls him down. He parts his lips gently, licking across Jeremy’s and asking for entrance, worrying away at that little spot Jeremy’s always biting until Jeremy is groaning and his hips are thrusting off the bed, short, truncated little ruts against Nick’s chest and Nick wants more.

He gets up off the floor slowly, not breaking the kiss as his hands drop to Jeremy’s hips and urge him to move back. He pulls away just long enough to lie on his side against the pillows and pull Jeremy to him, kissing him again. He drops a hand to Jeremy’s waistband, slipping under his shirt and resting against his lower back, urging his hips forward in a rhythm that knocks their clothed erections together and they both moan.

Jeremy tries to snake his hand between their bodies, but they’re pressed too tightly together and he grunts in frustration, fingernails digging into Nick’s hips and scratching at the cloth. “Please,” he whispers, throaty and hoarse and Nick chuckles.

“Demanding,” he whispers, biting Jeremy’s lip in just that spot and Jeremy groans.

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” Nick urges Jeremy up just enough to scoot his pants and boxers down to his knees. Jeremy settles back on the bed and moves his mouth to Nick’s ear. It’s wet and moist and a lot hotter than it should be and Nick pushes his own clothing down his thighs as quickly as he can.

They don’t have lube and the lotion is in the bathroom, way too far for either of them to walk in their condition. Nick shrugs his shoulders and drops his hand, but Jeremy hisses at the friction. “Sorry,” Nick whispers. “I don’t – here.” He spits into his palm and wraps it around both their dicks. It’s just enough pressure and Nick knows he makes an embarrassing keening noise.

The room is quiet except for the slapping of their bodies moving together and their heavy breathing, punctuated with little moans and cries. It’s been a long night for both of them, and Nick feels strung out, as if he’s just played a five-minute shift and he’s still not sure that this body is his, except that it feels _too good_ not to be.

Jeremy drops his forehead to Nick’s shoulder, his eyes wild as he peers down at Nick’s hand on them. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and he doesn’t sound much better than Nick and the idea that Nick is doing this to him is too much. Nick spills between them with a cry, closing his eyes and taking a few seconds to come back down. Until Jeremy thrusts against his over-sensitive dick and Nick tightens his hand so that it’s just around Jeremy. His own come slicks the way and it only takes a couple thrusts before Jeremy cries out.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Nick breathes, wiping his hand on his jeans. Jeremy laughs as he shimmies out of his pants and pulls up his boxers, slipping under the covers and watching Nick do the same with half-lidded eyes.

“We should set the alarm clock,” Jeremy murmurs, but he’s already half asleep, so Nick fishes around for his phone to set the alarm. They only have a couple of hours before they have to leave, but Nick plans on taking full advantage of them.

Nick punches out a quick “thank u” text to Matts before he places the phone on the bedside table and curls up behind Jeremy, pulling him tight and laying a contented kiss on his shoulder.

 **Part Three. Chicago Blackhawks Training Camp. September 18-October 3, 2010. Chicago, IL.**

“Leddy, come on. We’re late.”

The only times Nick has ever heard Duncan Keith sound cross is when he’s running late and, this time, Nick knows that it’s his fault, but he really doesn’t have the willpower to care at the moment. “Hold your horses, asshole,” he yells through the door.

He’s standing in the middle of Duncan’s guestroom in his boxers, a pile of discarded clothes on the bed. He feels ridiculous, like if he cares this much he might as well start drawing little pink hearts around Jeremy’s name in his playbook.

“Fuck this.” Nick grabs his jeans off the bed and pulls a green Nike shirt over his head. He even remembers to slip his wallet into his back pocket as he jogs down the stairs.

“Finally.” Brent Seabrook greets him at the bottom of the stairs, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Nick just glares at him as Seabs grins. “Finish doing your makeup?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car.” Duncan pushes them both out the door and Nick climbs into Duncan’s backseat.

He should probably wonder more why Seabs is always driving Duncs’ car while Duncs is happy to backseat drive from the passenger seat, but he’s too busy biting his nails and reading through the texts Jeremy has sent him over the last few days. They didn’t have much time to talk when they woke up that morning in Toronto, both groggy and rushed as they hustled to get to the airport in time. And with Jeremy staying with Patrick Sharp and Nick staying with Duncan, they haven’t had a chance to do anything more than send shy, nerve-wracking texts since.

Nick doesn’t have a lot of experience with morning afters via text.

“Earth to Leddy.”

Nick shakes his head. “Yeah? Sorry.”

“What’s with you man?”

Which is when Nick realizes that the car has stopped and not only has he not heard a single word that Duncs and Seabs have said the whole drive, but they’re here and that means that he’s really going to have to get his act together. “Nothing. I’m good.”

Seabs turns in his seat, but Nick is out of the car before they can say anything more. He can feel Seabs’ eyes in the back of his head and he takes the steps up the front walk two at a time, grinning at Abby Sharp as she greats him at the door.

“Nick Leddy.” He holds out his hand and grins at her, knowing that he’s giving her a false impression at how upbeat he is as a person, but he’s just so happy that she’s here to save him from his self-appointed defensive fathers. “This is from Duncan, Brent and I.”

She takes the bottle of wine and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Aren’t you just adorable. I’m Abby, Sharpie’s wife. It’s nice to meet you.” She winks at him and Nick blushes as he ducks inside, leaving her to hug and kiss Duncs and Seabs as if she hasn’t seen them all week.

The house is already pretty crowded. Training camp starts tomorrow, and Tazer had thought it would be good team bonding to get everyone together. Except, he still lives in a two-bedroom condo, so he happily volunteered Sharpie to host 40 plus angsty, antsy hockey players in his home. Nick’s heard all about it, since Seabs likes to gossip more than a group of prep-school girls.

“Hey, Leddy.” Nick looks over to see Kaner waving a beer at him, and he crosses the room gratefully. He’s okay with this, leaning against the wall, sipping his beer and watching Jeremy mingle across the room. He looks good, dressed in jeans and flip-flops and if the shirt is a little too baggy for his taste, Nick knows what’s going on under there so he doesn’t have a lot of trouble imagining it.

He takes a long drag of his beer and when he lowers the bottle, Jeremy is in front of him, smiling at him, cheeks red, and his head tilted to the man next to him. “I wanted you to meet Nick Leddy. He was my roommate at the rookie tournament. Nick, this is Patrick Sharp.”

Oh, this is Sharpie. Well. That hair, and the way Jeremy’s smiling at him, makes Nick want to push Jeremy against the wall and remind him of everything they went through in Toronto. Except, all he can do is shake Sharpie’s hand a lot harder than he would normally, and bite out, “Nice to meet you.”

Sharpie sort of frowns at him and Nick kicks himself. Whatever this is that’s going on between him and Jeremy, what he’s here for is to play hockey and, from what he’s heard, pissing on the Hawks’ alternate captain is not the best route to go.

“Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jeremy blushes even harder and Nick feels like an ass. “Yeah, yeah, me too. Seabs doesn’t really shut up about you.” And, fuck, that probably wasn’t the way to smooth things over.

Sharpie’s laughing, though, slapping his knee and grinning at Nick. “Ah, Seabs is never gonna hear the end of that one. Thank you, Nick. I owe you one.” He winks, before taking off and Nick is left standing with Jeremy. His stomach feels like it’s in his feet and he really shouldn’t be drinking.

“Hey.” Jeremy bites that lip and Nick comes back to himself, grinning and rolling his eyes.

“I just made a fool of myself.”

Jeremy shrugs. “Don’t worry. I’ve done it a few times in the last couple days.”

“Good.” Nick grins. “Rookie solidarity.” Jeremy’s face falls and Nick hates himself a little bit for putting that look there, but he really has to know before this goes any further. “Sharpie’s, um-“ He leans forward, his lips inches from Jeremy’s ear as he whispers, “attractive.”

Jeremy shivers and the way he looks at Nick chases any doubts from his mind. “No, no, I-”

Nick grins, taking a sip of his beer to calm himself. “Good. ‘Cause, you know, I’ve missed you.”

Jeremy glances around. “Not here,” he whispers before he takes off and Nick supposes that means he’s supposed to follow. He nods at a few of the players he vaguely knows, shaking a couple hands even though his own palm is sweaty with anticipation, before he finally comes out in an empty hallway.

“Hey,” Jeremy says again and this time Nick can cross to him and tip Jeremy’s chin down to kiss him. It’s too heavy for Sharpie’s hallway, tongues dueling and hands groping, and Nick’s hardening too fast, his hips thrusting against Jeremy’s thigh. Jeremy pulls away with a little moan and Nick pulls his hand out from under Jeremy’s shirt to cup his cheek.

“Sorry,” Nick whispers, “I’m sorry, that was-” He drops a quick, close-mouthed kiss on Jeremy’s lips. “I want you.” Nick drops his hand between them to cup Jeremy through his jeans.

“Fuck.” Jeremy closes his eyes. “We can’t.”

“I know.” Nick eyes the mess that he’s made of Jeremy’s clothes. He reaches out to smooth the front of Jeremy’s shirt, leaning up for a quick kiss. It’s ridiculous how much more he wants this now that he’s had a taste.

“There you are – oh.”

Before Nick has a chance to register that the voice isn’t coming from either of them, Jeremy pushes him away, his hands burning, and Nick stumbles back until his back hits the other wall and he holds himself upright against it. He looks at Jeremy, who looks flushed and angry and embarrassed and Nick follows his horrified eyes to the doorway. Sharpie.

“Fuck.” Nick looks back at Jeremy and his stomach drops as he realizes that Jeremy’s not going to say a single thing in this conversation, so Nick straightens his shirt and turns back to Sharpie. “This isn’t what you think.” Except Nick knows he’s a terrible liar, and if his face isn’t giving him away, the bulge in his pants certainly is. Especially since Sharpie is glancing right _there_ with a raised eyebrow and a half-grin.

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.”

And Nick’s always known that he’s not a guy to hide this. If he had just been upfront about it, he wouldn’t be here having this ridiculous conversation, exchanging cliché things like that, things that are only said in the free gay porn that he used to sneak-download on his dad’s computer when he was thirteen. He’s never wanted to hear them come out of his own mouth, and he grimaces. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sharpie laughs. “I like you, Leddy.”

“Um, thanks?” Nick tilts his head, not sure if he should really believe that getting caught wrapped up with another man is an _endearing_ trait, but, he’s not going to question it. He glances over at Jeremy, wishing that his touch wouldn’t be so unwanted, ‘cause he wants to kiss him again and Jeremy’s looking so red that Nick’s sure he hasn’t taken a breath in minutes.

“Breath, Mo.” And thank god Sharpie notices, too, ‘cause Jeremy is likely to listen to him a lot more than he is to Nick at the moment.

Jeremy starts coughing, the air going down the long way and Sharpie steps over to him, patting him on the back. “Relax, kid. You’re gonna fit in here just fine.”  
***  
Nick honestly figures that that is going to be it. Jeremy has always been clear about how uncomfortable he is with his sexuality, and at the first opportunity, Nick manages to get them caught in their captain’s hallway the night before training camp. Even Nick can admit that it could have been bad. Disastrous, even. And the fact that Patrick Sharp is the apparent poster-child for the Blackhawks’ gay-straight alliance doesn’t really ease the pit that has developed in his stomach.

Nick, apparently, is as bad at not-telling as he is at lying and, perhaps, he’d be better off if he just gave up on relationships for the next twenty years or so. He’s always enjoyed his right hand and, well, if he keeps playing hockey the way he has been, it might just be satisfying enough.

They’re nine days and two games into camp, and both he and Jeremy are playing brilliantly. Nick tries to keep his head out of the media, but he knows that headlines like “Leddy, Morin forcing Hawks to make tough decision” are floating around nhl.com. It’s hard to ignore them all, when, after every practice, the media sticks a microphone in front of him and asks him questions.

“Are you going to turn pro?”

“Will the University of Minnesota miss you next year?”

“You turned down the US National Development team to finish up your high school years at Eden Prairie. Will you do the same now?”

Nick doesn’t know how to answer any of them. Truthfully, he had been assuming all along that the Hawks organization, like the Minnesota Wild before, would want him to spend another couple years at Minnesota. He’s never really considered going pro. He’s never had any reason to, until now.

“What do you think of going pro?” Nick asks as he settles into the chair in Duncan’s living room. Seabs is there, playing video games on the couch. Nick doesn’t know where Duncs is.

Seabs pauses the game. “I went the Juniors route, so there wasn’t any question for me.”

“Yeah.” Nick sighs, tilting his head back in the chair and staring at the ceiling.

“Duncs played two years at Michigan State.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s a really personal decision. You’re a good kid. You can’t go wrong.”

His parents aren’t a lot more help when they finally have a three day stretch between games and he has time to set his computer up on the desk in Duncan’s guestroom and skype them.

“Hey.”

“We’re so proud of you.” His mother’s been telling him that since he was six-years old, and she’s started every conversation with it since he left home. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that saying it so often makes it lose some of its meaning.

“Thanks.” Nick rubs his forehead. “Did you read the article this morning?”

“It’s not good to lose your head in the media. They’re fickle.” His dad this time, and his dad’s as bad a liar as he is.

“Did you read it?”

“Ahh,” his parents glance at each other, before they both nod.

Nick groans. “Maybe I should go pro.”

“I thought you wanted to spend another couple years at Minnesota.”

“I did.” Nick shrugs. “I do.”

“You like your teammates.”

“I know. But-” Nick swallows. “The guys here are good guys, too. I’m fitting in pretty well.”

“Nick, is this about a boy?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “No, mom, this isn’t about a boy.”

She holds up her hands in defense. “Okay, okay.”

Nick feels his phone buzz and he glances down, his heart dropping a little when he sees that the text’s from Sharpie. He feels a little bad, ‘cause maybe his mother isn’t wrong. Jeremy hasn’t done more than send him one text, _not only ur fault, I wanted 2_ , which sounds sort of promising, except that it had only come after seventeen iterations of _im sorry_ from Nick. Nick’s spent the 72 hours after receiving it obsessing over the past tense in _wanted_ and hoping for another one.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

“Okay. Be safe. We miss you.”

Nick promises to call them more often and closes his computer. Sharpie’s text says something about shopping and picking him up in fifteen minutes, so he rushes to throw on some clothes and run down the stairs.

Nick’s pretty sure that this is a set up, Sharpie playing matchmaker even though he doesn’t really know Nick or Jeremy that well yet. It had been just a bit too convenient, when the conversation about Tazer’s Chicago Magazine photo shoot had led to quips about how bad a dresser Kaner is and had culminated in Sharpie mentioning that, on separate occasions, he’d heard both Jeremy and Nick mention that they haven’t had a chance to explore Michigan Ave yet.

Sharpie had had this gleam in his eye when everyone had agreed to this little shopping expedition on their off day, and Nick hadn’t been able to back out. Not that he had wanted to. An afternoon with Jeremy is a desirable proposition, even if Jeremy is furious with him.

When Sharpie drives up, Nick climbs into the back without even thinking about it and it takes him a minute or so to realize that Kaner’s in the front seat and Jeremy’s in the back, staring at his hands, cheeks flushed as he’s stealing little glances in Nick’s direction.

Definitely a setup.

When they get out of the car and meet up with Tazer, who’s decided that he needs to serve as chaperone for this little expedition, Jeremy sort of hangs back to walk next to Nick and Nick has the insane urge to reach over and take his hand. Maybe Nick has a chance after all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing that it’s not enough, but it’s all he has.

Jeremy shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, but when they duck into the biggest Levi store Nick’s ever seen, Jeremy helps him find a couple pairs in his size. He comes out of the dressing room in a pair that _has_ to be too tight, except this is Chicago, and maybe guys wear their jeans differently here, ‘cause Sharpie whistles and makes him spin around.

It’s terribly embarrassing as Nick holds the bottom of his shirt in his hand so that they can get the full effect, so that there’s a sliver of skin showing between the jeans and his hands and he knows that he changes in a locker room every day with these guys, but this is _different_. Except, Jeremy’s staring at him, eyes wide, jaw-dropped, every clichéd sign that shouts _I want you_ and the things are a ridiculous $329 but he buys them anyway.

Their last stop is a suit shop. A specialty men’s tailor shop and Nick stops checking the prices when the first one hits more digits than he can count to. It doesn’t even seem worth looking, but Kaner’s in the dressing room so Nick finds a mirror and tries on a ‘20s-style, pin-striped gangster hat.

“Looks good on you.”

The hat falls off his head when he whips his chin up fast enough to catch Jeremy glancing at him in the mirror. Nick puts it back on, turning his hip a little and trying to look gangsta or something. “It’s ridiculous.”

Jeremy laughs, nodding. “Yeah.” He blushes. “Dashing, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy glances down, his fingers playing with the shopping bag in his hand. “Look, um, I’m not gonna pretend that what happened at Sharpie’s wasn’t the most terrifying moment of my life.”

“I know.” Nick swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” Nick flinches, but Jeremy softens his words with a smile as he looks up. Finally. “But I had a talk with Sharpie and he convinced me that I was being a bit of an idiot.”

“Yeah?”

“Asshole.” But it’s affectionate and Nick can’t stop grinning as Jeremy plows ahead. “No more making out in public, okay?”

Nick nods, ‘cause, at this point, he’s pretty sure he’d agree to anything Jeremy asks of him.

“Good.”

Nick wants to kiss him, but that would break the rule already, and he’s done being a fuck up, for the moment at least. Instead, he nods his head towards the dressing rooms, and Jeremy falls into step beside him. They get back just in time to catch Kaner standing in front of a mirror in the worst all-white suit that Nick has ever seen.

“But, it’s cool.” Kaner whines, turning around to look at the suit from the side. He juts his hip and Nick has to smother his laugh in his hand.

Tazer doesn’t bother, laughing and shaking his head. “It’s really not.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone wears these, asshole. They’re in.”

“I promise, they’re not.”

“Tazer-“

“When have I lied to you?”

Kaner frowns. “All the time.”

“About fashion?”

“What do you know about fashion? You wear Team Canada shirts every day, fucker.”

Tazer shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re wrong.” Kaner turns in the mirror again. “I swear this is cool.”

“In Miami, maybe.”

Kaner sighs. “We should live in Miami. Why don’t we live in Miami?”

Tazer raises an eyebrow at him. “’Cause we play hockey. Here.”

“Right.” Kaner’s shoulders slump and he looks sad and dejected and, even though Nick is still laughing, he notices that Tazer’s expression has softened.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“When we retire, okay? Miami’s going on the list.” It’s said with so much affection, so much conviction, that Nick really doesn’t think that Tazer was using the royal _we_ there and Nick wonders how many people on this team are gay for each other. Maybe he and Jeremy really will fit in fine, just like Sharpie promised.  
***  
By the end of training camp, Nick is really starting to feel like part of the team.

He’s decided to go pro. He’s telling the media it’s because he’s had a long talk with his parents, his agent, and the youth coaches that he still trusts. He says it’s because Soupy is hurt and there’s a good chance that he will at least start the year in Chicago, and, if not, there’s a lot he can learn in Rockford. He definitely does not say that he made the decision the minute Jeremy looked at him in that Levi store.

Things with Jeremy are going pretty well, too. It’s still hard, since neither of them have their own place, but they’re roommates on the road and they’ve used the time for quick handjobs to blow off steam after games. In the locker room, too, Jeremy’s warmed up and they’ve become practically inseparable off the ice.

More often than not, they warm up with a game of soccer before games and practices, and if their soccer is filled with more laughter and wrestling than soccer usually is, no one mentions it. That’s where they are today, Jeremy with the ball trapped between his feet and Nick practically plastered to his back in an attempt to steal it away, when Tazer clears his throat and they both look up.

“Coach Q wants to see you, Mo.”

Jeremy doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t say anything. They’ve known this was coming, one way or the other, and the little look Tazer throws Nick’s way before following after Jeremy isn’t very comforting.

Nick waits. He dribbles the ball. He throws it against the wall until his arms are tired. He stretches until his thighs protest the pull. He goes back to dribbling again.

Conversations with Coach Q never take this long, although Nick doesn’t wear a watch and his phone is back in the locker room. It crosses his mind that maybe Jeremy doesn’t know that he’s still here, waiting like an idiot, and he’s just decided to go back and get his phone when Jeremy finds him.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Nick can read every line on his face and he doesn’t know what to say. Jeremy was supposed to be sent to Rockford before they ever played a preseason game. He was supposed to be a distant prospect. They both were, actually, but they’ve played well, Jeremy even brilliantly. But, Nick has the advantages of being a defenseman and of having a much smaller salary hit than Jeremy does.

They should have talked about this, before, because now Nick doesn’t know what to do. After two shaky starts, they’ve had less than a week to feel things out and Nick knows that Jeremy’s been happy, that they’ve had fun, but that’s it. They’ve never had that conversation, about where they stand, how they feel, what they want, and Nick can’t very well ask Jeremy to wait for him now, to wait the six or so weeks until Soupy heals, when Jeremy looks devastated and one more thing might just serve to push him over.

“Rockford?” Nick asks, finally, ‘cause the silence is killing him and Jeremy bites his lip, nods.

“Yeah. It’ll, um,” he kicks at the ball with his left foot. “It’ll be good. Coach Q says that they like how I play, that they’ll be watching me. Rockford is good.”

“It is.”

“You’re staying here.”

Nick doesn’t know Jeremy well enough yet to know if it’s an accusation or if it’s jealousy or if it’s something else, the beginnings of what they’ve been trying to built since they met in June. The only thing he knows is that it’s true, all of it, and Nick wraps his fingers around Jeremy’s wrist and pulls him into the closest supply closet.

“I’ll probably be in Rockford in a few weeks.”

“Don’t say that. You’re good, Nick.”

“So are you.” Jeremy shrugs and Nick tilts his chin up. “You are.” He leans forward and kisses him. He uses a lot of tongue, mapping Jeremy’s map as he pulls his hips close and aligns their cocks. They’re both wearing two layers of clothing, but they’re young and horny and neither really cares. Jeremy turns them, pressing Nick against the door and moving against him, hard, painful movements and Nick’s hips jerk, hard and fast, and they both come with a groan, shooting hard and wet in their shorts.

Nick laughs, kissing Jeremy’s ear ‘cause, if nothing else, no one else has ever made him feel like the teenager that he still is. Jeremy grins, kissing him again, slipping his hand under Nick’s t-shirt and resting his palm against the damp crease in the small of Nick’s back. Nick sighs, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m going to miss this.” It doesn’t mean anything more than just this, the kissing and the getting off. It doesn’t promise anything more, but Jeremy smiles at him anyway.

“Me too.”

 **Part Four. Regular Season. October-December, 2010. Chicago/Rockford, IL.**

Nick is nervous as he stands on Jeremy’s doorstep in Rockford. Things had been great in Chicago, but, as he had suspected, Soupy had healed and Nick had gotten the call into Coach Q’s office this morning. They’d been very nice about it, flattered him, tried to sell Rockford as if Nick hadn’t known this was coming, hadn’t been planning on it all along.

It was all a bit quicker than he had expected, though. He had thought that he’d get a few hours to pack up, thank Duncan for housing him, say a quick good bye to the guys, but the coach in Rockford wants him to play in the game tonight. So Nick had made the short drive to Duncan’s while Duncs and Seabs were at practice, thrown his clothes into a couple of bags, and hopped onto the thruway.

And now, here he is, on Jeremy’s doorstep, completely unsure if he’s wanted and/or expected. There hadn’t been time to send him a text to say that he’s coming. There’d been no evidence over the last few weeks that he’s unwanted, but there hadn’t been a lot of evidence to the contrary, either.

They had been really good, in the beginning. They had texted often, called every few days. But, distance is hard and things got busy and the conversation slowed. It takes Nick a couple of days to answer texts, and about half the time when he calls, Jeremy sends him straight to voicemail. When they _do_ talk, it’s pleasant and fun, so Nick knows that there are no hard feelings but, well, it’s hard when they’re so far apart. And he just doesn’t know how Jeremy will react to him being here, on his doorstep, with a black and red Blackhawks equipment bag and two suitcases.

He sighs and sucks it up and rings the doorbell.

“Coming, coming.” There’s some banging from inside, and then the door’s opening and Jeremy’s there. “Nick?”

“Hey.” Nick frowns. “Coach Peters didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?”

“Um, no?” Jeremy rubs his head, as if trying to remember if he’d forget something like that.

“Well, I’m, um, gonna be here for a while.” Nick glances at his luggage. “Mind if I stay here? At least ‘til I find my own place?”

“Ahh,” Jeremy shakes his head, before smiling at him and grabbing one of his suitcases. He doesn’t ask why he’s here, doesn’t ask what happened, just smiles at him as if he’s happy to see Nick. “Of course. Sorry, you surprised me.”

“Thanks.” Nick smiles back at him. “I really appreciate it.”

“I was just on my way to practice. Drop your bags and you can come with.”

“Cool.” Nick drops his things and throws his hockey bag in the back of Jeremy’s Forrester.

Introductions are less awkward than Nick had worried they’d be. He knows a lot of the guys from either rookie camp or training camp, and there’s less ribbing about being sent down than Nick had expected. Although, he supposes he should revise his theory, since they’re pretty much all in the same boat, having fun in Rockford while biding their time to get to the NHL. They all understand how this works, and it’s extremely rare to go directly from amateur to the NHL, unless, of course, you’re a superstar like Jonathan Toews or Patrick Kane, and it’s just not fair to be compared to _them_.

The day goes by quickly, and Nick is too busy adjusting to the pace of the AHL game and trying to fit in in the locker room to be worried about Jeremy. And he seems okay, taking some sort of pride in being the guy who knows Nick well enough to show him around. Jeremy scores a goal during the game, too, so he’s even happily chatting on the car ride back to his apartment.

“Um, I’m gonna show you your room, then I’m gonna take a shower, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.” Nick follows him down the hallway to the guestroom. It’s small, but there’s a bed and a dresser, and Nick takes the time to put his clothes away. It helps settle him, remind him that this is his new home, and the quicker he finds some equilibrium, the better.

He’s feeling okay, after a shower, and he pulls on a thin pair of sweats and a t-shirt before making his way to the living room. Jeremy is already there, dressed mostly the same way, curled into a corner of the couch with an Xbox controller in his hands. When he hears Nick come in, he pauses his game and turns.

“Find everything okay?”

“Yeah, um, amazingly. You’re all set up here.”

Jeremy blushes. “My mom visited in October. It was empty except for the TV, and she took my paycheck and set up the place. Couch, beds, things in the kitchen I’ve never _seen_ before.”

Nick laughs, taking the other side of the couch. “My mom’d do the same thing.” He sits on the other controller and fishes it out. “Playing NHL11?”

“Yeah.” He blushes a bit. “I’m playing Toews.”

Nick laughs. He’s missed Jeremy. More than he’s allowed himself to admit. “Okay. Can I be Lidstrom?”

“Sure.” Jeremy quits his game and starts up a new one, an epic match between Chicago and Detroit that goes the equivalent of two playoff seasons and a fake Winter Classic. Jeremy wins, though it’s close.

Jeremy shuts down the game and fiddles with the controller in his lap. It’s late, way past midnight, and the silence is oppressive. Nick really wants to go to bed, but he doesn’t know how to do it without making the awkwardness worse, and he doesn’t want to do any damage that will prove irreparable later.

“Um-“ Jeremy glances at him, but he looks away quickly, his cheeks tinged red and his teeth worrying at that spot on his bottom lip. Nick’s too tired to hide what that does to him and he stares at the spot.

“Nick?”

“Fuck it,” Nick whispers, pushing his controller to the ground and stretching across the couch to kiss him. Jeremy sighs into his mouth, his entire body going limp under Nick’s. Nick slips a hand under Jeremy’s back, adjusting them so that they’re spread out along the couch, Nick’s knees on either side of Jeremy’s thigh, his erection brushing against Jeremy’s hip.

When Nick pulls away, resting his forehead against Jeremy’s shoulder as he pants for breath, Jeremy’s hands shake loose and hold tightly to Nick’s hips as if Jeremy can keep him there with just his fingertips. Jeremy presses up against Nick’s dick with his hip, sighing happily. “You still want me.”

“What?” Nick breathes deep, raising his head to look at Jeremy, and he’s shocked to see Jeremy’s eyes closed, a shy, awed expression on his face.

Jeremy opens his eyes slowly, languidly stretching beneath Nick. “It’s been weeks and, well, out of sight out of mind, you know?”

Nick shakes his head. He’s way too fucking worn out for this conversation. “No, I don’t, I – Jeremy?”

Jeremy frowns, bringing one of his hands up to caress Nick’s jaw. “You’ve been in Chicago, a star, and you’re an attractive guy. I’m sure there were plenty of men throwing themselves at you. I’d understand if-“ Jeremy swallows. “I’d understand.”

“I’m not a star.” Jeremy’s face falls and, right, that’s not the part that Nick’s supposed to be focusing on. He gathers his thoughts, leaning all his weight on his right arm so that he can run the other through Jeremy’s hair. “Hey, I didn’t, okay? I didn’t even think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Nick ducks his head, his throat suddenly going dry and he licks his lips. This feels like a monumental conversation, one that they should have had a long time ago, and he really, really, doesn’t wanna fuck this up. “I couldn’t get you out of my head.” Jeremy shakes his head, but Nick just nods. “Yeah, you were all I thought about, I swear. You and hockey.”

Jeremy stares at him for a long, tense moment, and Nick can’t shake the feeling that this is a test of some kind and, after all that they’ve been through, if he doesn’t pass, he might just get thrown out on his ass for good. He holds still, nothing more than his thumb moving across Jeremy’s forehead, trying to tell him everything through his touch and his body and the fact that he’s _here, now,_ and if he still doesn’t know what exactly it is that he’s promising Jeremy yet, he knows that he’s promising _something_.

It must work, somehow, ‘cause Jeremy loosens below him, sinking into the couch and gripping Nick’s hip, hard. He pulls Nick down, kissing him with something a little bit _more_ than he has before, and, when they break apart to breath, Jeremy drops a hand down to cup Nick.

“I want you,” he whispers, grinning.

Nick’s mind melts. “Yes,” he hisses, pushing into Jeremy’s touch, humping his palm for a second until he can get his mind to work again. He presses their foreheads together, exhaling slowly. “Have you, um, have you ever-?”

Jeremy bites his lip and Nick drops his chin to lick that spot. Jeremy laughs, his cheeks flushed as he looks straight at Nick. “Yeah. A couple times, but, um, it’s been awhile?”

It’s a question and Nick just grins at him. “Okay, okay. Slow, good. Lube?”

“In the bedroom.”

Nick grins. “Your mom put that there, too?”

Jeremy blushes deeply, his whole neck going red until it disappears under his t-shirt, and he shoves at Nick to get him up and off the couch. “Fuck you,” he whispers, but he pulls Nick in for one more kiss once they’re sitting up and Nick just chuckles at him.

They race to the bedroom, laughing and making quick work of their clothes along the way. They’re both down to their underwear by the time they tumble onto Jeremy’s bed, and Nick settles himself between Jeremy’s thighs, sitting back on his heels and getting the chance to properly look at him for the first time.

They’re both still young, with lots of filling out to do, and most of their weight comes from height and not muscle. But they’re still hockey players, and Nick is transfixed by the way Jeremy’s taught stomach contracts with each breath.

“Nick?”

“Hmm?”

“ _Do_ something.”

“Right.” Nick grins at him, pressing forward for a kiss, before trailing his lips down Jeremy’s chest. He takes Jeremy’s left nipple between his teeth, squeezing tightly until Jeremy whines deep in his throat and Nick lets up, soothing the angry-red nub with his tongue.

His original intention was to tease every inch of Jeremy he can reach, but Jeremy is already writhing below him, and his own cock feels painful in his briefs, so he decides to adjust his plan.

“Lube?” Jeremy asks, and Nick nods.

Jeremy reaches for the bedside table, his long muscles stretching towards it, and Nick has to drop the heel of his hand hard into his own dick, willing himself to take a few steps back from the edge.

“Okay?” Jeremy asks as he settles back against the pillows, the lube and condoms in a pile next to him.

Nick groans, leaning down to kiss him. “I’m not gonna last too long this time.”

Jeremy grins, pressing up against him. “Get moving, then.”

“Pushy.” Nick nips at Jeremy’s lip before he settles back on his heels. He reaches for the waistband of Jeremy’s briefs, urging him to lift his hips so that Nick can pull the fabric off and drop it to the floor somewhere behind them.

Nick reaches up for the lube, making sure that Jeremy watches him coat his finger with it before taking Jeremy’s dick in his hand and giving it a couple of good, hard tugs. Jeremy’s eyes slip shut, a moan slipping past his lips, and Nick uses the moment to drop his finger and push it past the first wall of muscle.

Jeremy tenses for a moment, but Nick holds still, allowing Jeremy to adjust to the intrusion. Jeremy is tight and hot and Nick thinks of things like blocking shots and disallowed goals and the drive between Chicago and Rockford, until he’s sure that he’s not going to finish right now, long before they’re done.

Jeremy reaches for him, wrapping his fingers around Nick’s bicep and urging him forward. Nick opens his eyes, leaning up to kiss him, close-lipped, as he pushes his finger in. Jeremy’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t flinch away, and Nick bends his finger, stretching, pulling, until, without moving his lips away, he slips in a second one. This one is easier, Jeremy’s body already open and willing and the scissoring makes quick work of his muscles.

Nick sits back again, reaching for the lube and looking at Jeremy. “A third?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy breathes, adjusting the way he’s sitting on Nick’s fingers before sinking further into the pillows. Nick pulls his fingers back and pours a liberal amount of lube over them, before pushing three in. Jeremy tightens for a second, grimacing, and Nick frowns. It takes him a couple of minutes of twisting and scissoring before he finds the spot and Jeremy keens, his back arching up off the bed and his eyes slipping shut.

Nick keeps the angle, hitting it again and again, relentless, and Jeremy’s body twists in his arms, a thick layer of sweat gathering on his chest as he pants and breathes out, “Stop, stop. Nick-“

“Okay,” Nick pulls back, caressing Jeremy’s sides with his messy fingers, urging him to slow and relax. “I’m here.”

“God, Nick, that was, fuck. I had forgotten – Jesus, what’s your dick gonna feel like?” Jeremy opens his eyes and the question is so innocent at this moment that Nick chuckles.

He scoots back just long enough to pull his own briefs to the ground before grabbing a condom and the lube and spreading it liberally over himself. He lifts Jeremy’s calves to his shoulders and presses forward. “Okay?”

Jeremy’s eyes are half-lidded as he glares up at him. “Yes, fuck, do it.” Nick can’t really tell what mix of arousal and fear it is, but he’s too far gone to make any other allowances than to go slow as he pushes into Jeremy’s body. It opens for him, tight and hot and, fuck, almost more than Nick is prepared for.

It’s not particularly good. They’re both nineteen years old, relatively inexperienced, and after months of wanting each other this way, it was never meant to last long. But, Nick’s fingers dig deep bruises into Jeremy’s thighs, and Jeremy drops a hand over his eyes as Nick pounds into him, and it’s the best they’ve ever had.

Nick can barely hear anything over the rush of blood in his ear, but he’s determined to hear that keening sound again. He twists his hips and yes, there it is, Jeremy’s entire body going still under him as he arches off the bed, wrapping his arms around Nick’s neck and pulling him down for a hot, wet, kiss.

“Please, please, please,” he whispers into Nick’s mouth, and Nick shifts his weight onto one hand so that he can drop the other between their bodies. It only takes a couple of tugs and Jeremy spills over their chests, Nick’s name on his tongue as he holds on tightly to Nick’s back.

Nick holds him, kissing along his jaw and keeping up a steady rhythm with his hips. Jeremy groans, pressing his hands to Nick’s lower back and urging him forward until Nick stills, pumping deep and long, biting down on Jeremy’s lip as he moans out his name.

Nick turns his head to kiss Jeremy as he eases away, helping Jeremy’s legs fall loosely to the bed. Nick stumbles up, disposing of the condom and grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom. When Nick returns, Jeremy has already turned back the covers, and Nick cleans them quickly before throwing the cloth to join the pile of clothes on the ground, and slips into bed.

“We need to do that again,” Nick sighs, curling up behind Jeremy and pulling him tight.

“As many times as we can,” Jeremy breathes.  
***  
They hold true to Jeremy’s wish. In the month after Nick arrives in Rockford, they settle into a good routine. A routine that mostly consists of hockey, pizza, beer, Xbox, and sex, but a routine none-the-less. Nick never moves out of Jeremy’s apartment and, if anyone asks, he says he’s just staying in the extra room. It sounds economical, with their salaries, to be saving money with a roommate. Everyone’s kind enough not to point out that rent in Rockford, IL isn’t exactly steep.

They also make a concerted effort to hang out with the team. Not only to defray any possible hints as to the real nature of their relationship, but also because Rockford is beginning to feel like home and Nick’s starting to feel like he wouldn’t mind spending a couple of years here. It’s a nice town, a good group of guys, and he feels himself getting stronger, both mentally and physically, every game he plays.

The weather’s starting to change as November sets in. Flurries are in the air, but Nick’s still holding out on wearing a jacket, as if maybe he has a chance of holding out longer than the Mid-West winter. He does give in to Jeremy, though, by pulling his Rockford hoodie on over his t-shirt before they get into the car and make their way over to Beach’s.

The thing about Rockford is that over half the team is still under-aged, and even though they could find a bar willing to look the other way, the Rockford media tends to treat the team like the up-and-coming stars that they are. Beach always seems to have a solution to the problem, though, with an endless supply of alcohol that no one bothers to question. They just nickname his house The Speakeasy and it’s an unspoken rule that, whenever they have a couple days off between games, the guys all head over there.

“Let’s make it an early night, yeah?” Jeremy stops at a light and looks over at Nick.

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jeremy grins and turns back to the road. “No reason.”

“You’re such a fucking liar.” The light turns green and Nick reaches his hand over to rest on Jeremy’s knee. “Have other plans?”

Nick’s hand inches up his thigh and Jeremy’s breath hitches. “Nick-“

“Yeah?”

Jeremy takes a hand off the wheel to cover Nick’s and keep it from roaming further. “Just a couple hours, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick grins, taking his hand back as they pull up in front of Beach’s place.

Beach’s just renting the house, hoping, like they all are, that their Rockford residency will prove short-lived, so it’s sparsely furnished. But half the team is already here, hanging around the couches drinking beers and cheering on an Xbox tournament.

“Leddy, Mo.” Beach meets them at the door, squeezing both their shoulders. “Good. We need you.”

“What?”

“We’re getting killed.”

Nick looks over at the couch and Brian Connelly ushers him over. “Leddy, good.” Nick leaves Jeremy with a quick shoulder squeeze at the doorway and takes the beer Brian hands him. “I need you on my team.”

“Who’re we playing?”

“We’re reenacting the Eastern Conference playoff series. We need you to play Mike Green.”

Nick takes the controller and squeezes onto the couch between Brian and Igor Makarov. “I playing Ovie. I am terrible.”

Nick laughs, clicking through the options and setting up his player. Jeremy takes up a seat at the other end of the couch, accepting a controller and setting up as a forward on the rival Montreal Canadiens.

Nick grins at him. “Think you’ll make a better Canadien than a Blackhawk?”

Jeremy flips him off. “If you do Green better than you do Lidstrom.”

Nick laughs and focuses in on the game. He’s downed two beers before he realizes that Jeremy is gone, Brandon Pirri playing his controller. Nick doesn’t think much of it. Jeremy hadn’t been playing all that well, and the guys tend to be just as competitive about Xbox hockey as they are about real hockey, so Nick just assumes that Jeremy called it a loss and is skulking outside with a basketball or something.

“Nick.” Nick feels a hand on his arm and he glances at Jeremy out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, I’m almost done with this game. Wait a sec?” Nick asks, not taking his attention away from his animated player.

“We’ve gotta go.”

Nick is utterly focused, otherwise he would have taken head of the tone in Jeremy’s voice. “Can’t. We’re playing a tournament.”

“I know, but, Nick -”

“Just a little bit, okay? We only got here an hour ago.” Nick presses down hard and scores, throwing his hands into the air. “Plus, I’m winning.”

“I really have to go.”

Igor pauses the game and looks at them. “I will drive Nick home. Later. If he not want leave.”

Jeremy pauses, and Nick finally turns to look at him, really look at him, and he feels like the absolute worst boyfriend ever. “No, no, it’s okay. Pots can take my place.” He climbs over the back of the couch, handing his controller over to Potulny and dragging Jeremy out of the house.

“I’m sorry, I just-” Jeremy stops at the bottom of the porch steps, digging his hands into his pockets.

“Hey,” Nick takes a step closer, aware of their entire team on the other side of the windows. “What happened?”

Jeremy looks down at his feet. “I’ve been called up.”

“What?”

“I got the call, a few minutes ago.”

“Jeremy, that’s great.”

“Is it?” Jeremy kicks at the frozen ground with his sneakers. “I mean, it is, of course it is, but-” He gestures between them and Nick sighs.

He’s not going to have this discussion here, where they have to talk in code and half-finished sentences. Last time they had a discussion of this magnitude, they had been worn out and exhausted on Jeremy’s couch, forced into it by circumstance, and even if that had ended well, Nick is determined to do it right this time.

“Give me the keys.”

Jeremy doesn’t argue as he hands them over. The ride is quiet, Jeremy with his head in his palm, staring out the window, and Nick rests his hand on Jeremy’s knee, squeezing. Jeremy puts his hand over Nick’s but he doesn’t do anything more than rest it there.

When they get home, Nick lets them in, going straight to the couch and pulling Jeremy down. Jeremy looks terrified, curling in on himself against the armrest, and biting his lip. Nick sighs. “You’re an idiot.”

Jeremy frowns. “I-”

Nick reaches for him, wrapping his fingers around Jeremy’s ankle. “Maybe I should have told you this a long time ago, but I honestly thought that you’d have it figured out by now.”

“What?”

Nick makes sure that Jeremy’s really paying attention before continuing. “I really like you. Have since the moment me met. And that means-” Nick caresses the inside of Jeremy’s ankle with his thumb, “that I don’t want anyone else. And if that means that we have to do the long distance thing for a while, well, that’s what iPhones and laptops are for.”

Jeremy lets his breath out with a loud, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Nick nods. “You hadn’t figured that out yet?”

“I-” Jeremy swallows. “I was hoping, but-” he shrugs. “You didn’t ask me to wait last time.”

Nick shrugs. “We weren’t really anything yet, last time.”

Jeremy glances down at his hands. “I would have said yes, if you had asked.”

Nick freezes. It’s the first time Jeremy’s said something like that. Of course, Jeremy _had_ waited for him, but Nick had never been sure whether it was on purpose, or whether it was more due to lack of options. This, knowing that Jeremy had made a choice, to wait it out, wait for _him_ – Nick’s stomach flips.

“I’m sorry.” Nick whispers, wishing that there was more of Jeremy to touch than his ankle. “I should have, but, I didn’t know and I was – Well, all that matters is that I’m asking now. And I’m telling you that I’m with you, in every sense of the word.”

“Good.” Jeremy smiles, uncurling himself from the corner and kissing Nick, hands on both sides of his face. “Good, ‘cause I’m saying yes now, too.”

Nick grins. “You’re a romantic.”

Jeremy punches his shoulder. “Asshole. We were having a moment.”

Nick laughs, pulling him closer. “Yeah, yeah.” He rests their foreheads together. “You’re gonna do great in Chicago.”

And he means it, with everything he has, but, fuck, he’s going to miss him.  
***  
 _R u free 2day? @ 2?_

 _Y. why?_

 _Good. C u then._

Nick waits for another text, but it’s a pretty futile process. He knows by now to expect short, cryptic texts from Jeremy when he’s in the locker room or on the road or any other event that means that nosey teammates like Seabs and Kaner are around.

Giving up, Nick drops his phone to the coffee table and wanders into the kitchen. For the first few days after Jeremy had left, the apartment had felt big and foreign and echo-ey. Nick had considered getting his own apartment, or at least moving into the guestroom, but that had felt stupid. Even if Jeremy’s name is on the lease, Nick’s clothes take up half the drawers and at least a third of the closet space.

Nick’s started inviting the guys over, too. Jeremy had always been a little paranoid, as if any of their teammates are observant enough to realize that there are two toothbrushes in the master bathroom. Of course, in the ten or so days that Jeremy’s been gone, no one’s asked those questions, but Nick has a master plan anyway. One where he laughs it off and tells them that he didn’t waste a lot of time moving his things into the bigger bedroom the moment Jeremy was gone. Throw in a phrase like ‘while the body was still warm,’ a little self-deprecating humor, and it’d all be good.

Nick contemplates jerking off in the shower, but it was a hard practice and he can’t decide if he has the energy. Instead, he dries off quickly and crawls into bed with every intention of waking up long before 2 o’clock.

He doesn’t quite calculate the level of his tiredness, though, ‘cause he wakes to the incessant beeping of _r u there?_ texts. He swears, kicking off the covers and pulling on a pair of sweats as he dives for the desk and signs on to Skype.

“Hey.” Nick runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it, but it’s pretty much a lost cause. “Sorry, I kinda overslept.”

“It’s okay.” All Nick can see is Jeremy’s face, but he looks shy and nervous and it’s been a while since Nick’s seen him like this. “If you wanna go back to sleep, I, um, I didn’t mean to wake you. We can do this later.”

Nick shakes his head, yawning widely. “No, no, I’m up now. What’s up?”

Jeremy fidgets, his face blushing furiously. “Well, I, ahh, I had an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if you’d be into it. I don’t know if _I’m_ into it –” Jeremy stops, his whole face red, and Nick clues into what he’s talking about.

“You want to have _video sex?_ ” He blurts, and he didn’t really mean to sound so incredulous, but he would have bet his entire NHL career that Jeremy would never be the one to initiate this.

“No.” Jeremy pauses. “Well, yes, but it’s a terrible idea. Forget it. I’m sorry.”

“Jeremy, stop.” Nick takes a deep breath, letting it out to make sure that he’s done wanting to laugh. “Sorry I laughed. I just never figured you’d suggest it.”

Jeremy shrugs. “Sharpie and Abby are out for the afternoon, and I’m-” He stops, his whole face going even redder than before.

“Horny?” Nick supplies, and Jeremy looks horrified, before biting his lip and nodding. Nick grins. “Me too.”

Jeremy takes a deep breath. “Thank god. So this isn’t a terrible idea?”

“It’s a great idea.” And it is. The closest they’ve gotten to anything indecent lately is the naked picture Nick had sent to celebrate Jeremy’s first NHL goal. It was a nice gesture, he thought, except that he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Jeremy was probably out celebrating with the likes of Kaner, Seabs, Sharpie, and it had almost ended in disaster. Nick should know by now that the sexy, suave boyfriend is a role he was just never meant to play.

“Okay. Good. Um-” Jeremy bites his lip again. “How do we do this?”

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Haven’t you done this before?”

“No. Have you?”

“No,” Jeremy practically squeaks, before putting a hand over his mouth and blushing.

Nick ignores him, glancing around and trying to figure out how best to work this. Nick doesn’t want this to look like some trashy porno, just hands slapping on skin and fake moans coming from disembodied heads somewhere off screen. But he also doesn’t want to just see Jeremy’s face and have to guess at what he’s doing by the way his left eyebrow twitches or something.

He finally settles on pushing his chair back a little bit and angling the computer. It’s not perfect, but at least they can see most of each other’s bodies and they’re not cut off at the neck. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy breathes, pushing his chair into the same position and already sounding into it. Nick follows Jeremy’s eyes to where they’re staring at Nick’s bare chest. He hadn’t bothered putting a shirt on, and now he’s glad he hadn’t.

“Tell me what you want,” Nick urges.

Jeremy pauses, glancing around him and Nick has the insane urge to do the same, even though he lives alone now and no one could possibly be here. Finally, though, Jeremy settles in and says, his voice wavering a little, “Touch yourself, like I would.”

“Like this?” Nick asks, running a hand along his collarbone, down his bicep, before tweaking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh,” he breathes, arching up and almost letting his eyes slip closed.

“Yes,” Jeremy whispers, squirming in his seat and Nick nods at him.

“Take off your shirt.” Jeremy complies, pulling it over his head and throwing it away, somewhere beyond the realm of the computer screen. “I want you to rub yourself, through your pants. Yeah, like that.”

Nick mirrors the movements, dropping his own hand into his lap and pressing, hard. He moans, arching into it. He’s gotten pretty used to his right hand but, somehow, this feels different, better, good.

“I – I wanna see you.” Jeremy pants and Nick grins.

“Me too.” He lifts his hips, pulling his pants to the ground and Jeremy’s eyes widen for a moment, watching as Nick’s dick bounces against his stomach, a drop of pre-come already smearing across his abs. He doesn’t touch himself for a full minute, just stretching back in the chair and letting Jeremy look at him, until, of course, it starts feeling kinda weird and voyeuristic, and he wraps his hand around his dick in some attempt to cover it.

“Now you. Jeremy, please.”

“Right, right.” Jeremy smiles, that shy little smile that settles Nick and makes his stomach roll all at the same time. He’s really missed Jeremy’s body, and his mouth goes dry as Jeremy’s sweats and briefs hit the floor. His dick is only visible for a second, before Jeremy fists it, but Nick burns the moment into his mind.

“You’re- fuck, Jeremy, you’re so hot.”

Jeremy flushes, and, even through the computer, Nick can see that it travels all the way to his knees. “You, too.” Jeremy arches into his fist, dropping his head back and looking at Nick through half-lidded eyes. “The things you do to me, Nick. I don’t know if you’ll ever – fuck.”

Nick moans. He can almost forget that he’s here, alone, when Jeremy’s _here_ , invading all his senses, and Nick does forget that it’s his own hand tugging and pulling and when Jeremy comes, jerking into his own fist and calling Nick’s name, Nick tumbles right after.

“That was-” Nick smiles at him, slow, sated. “Jesus, Jeremy, that was the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I try.” Jeremy laughs, blushing even after what they’ve just done, and Nick wouldn’t trade him in for anything.

“You better go, before Sharpie gets home and finds you like this.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jeremy reaches out of the screen to grab his briefs, before returning and cleaning himself up. “Call me after your game?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Nick reaches over and turns off the computer. He knows he should clean up or something, but there’s still a couple of hours before he has to be at the rink, so he just stumbles over to the bed and falls instantly back to sleep.  
***  
Jeremy’s back in Rockford a few days before Christmas. He had been playing well, and rumors had been flying around about a long-term stay, perhaps into January and forcing him to miss his last World Junior Championships. On the phone, though, Jeremy had seemed unconcerned, just wanting to play his game and be the willing pawn. So, when Hossa, Kaner, and Tazer all get better and healed just before the holidays, Jeremy dutifully comes back to Rockford and happily settles back in.

In fact, it’s taking Nick longer to adjust than it is Jeremy. Not in a bad way, just in the little hint of surprise he gets every morning when he rolls over and Jeremy is there, mouth open, sleeping peacefully. Or in those moments, every once in a while, where it’s quiet and the apartment feels empty, and he looks over at the other end of the couch where Jeremy’s reading _The Hockey News_ , and Nick has to reach out and touch his foot to remind himself that Jeremy’s really here.

Nick doesn’t wonder about any of these things this morning. He wakes up feeling good, like his life is on track and he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be, even if nothing about this is where he had seen himself six months ago. It’s like Christmas morning when he was seven and his parents would make him wait upstairs until it was 7 o’clock, except that they aren’t here and Nick knows many pleasant ways to wake Jeremy up at 4 am that won’t leave him angry and grumpy.

Grinning, Nick ducks under the covers and kisses his way down Jeremy’s sleeping body, gently pushing on his hips ‘til he’s lying on his back. Nick waits a moment, making sure that Jeremy is still sleeping, before working Jeremy with his hands, slow, long tugs until Jeremy is hard.

Jeremy makes a little whine, his hips pushing closer to Nick, but Nick knows by now that Jeremy has a hard time discerning between dreams and realities when he’s in this half-way place between sleeping and waking, and Nick takes full advantage of his position, lowering his mouth and tonguing the head of Jeremy’s cock.

Nick takes his time. He rarely has the opportunity to go this slow, when their hormones are sleep-stunted and he can lick and nip every inch of Jeremy’s cock, taking notes of every moan and hitched breath it earns him. He spends an inordinate amount of time on the skin where Jeremy’s cock and balls meet, fascinated with the way the skin curls and bunches.

“Tease.” Jeremy’s voice is rough and when Nick looks up, Jeremy’s head is lifted slightly from the pillow, his hair tousled and his eyes groggy with the remnants of the sandman. If Nick was pressed, and only under sheer duress, he would have to admit that this moment is it, when Jeremy is the most beautiful to him, and he has to tamp down on the feelings threatening to spread too quickly through his body.

“Morning.” Nick murmurs, biting lightly at the little roll of skin under his mouth.

“You woke me up for _this_?”

“You want more?”

“Uh huh.”

Nick grins, rising on his elbow just enough to swallow Jeremy whole. Even after all these months, Jeremy isn’t expecting it, and his hands flutter to Nick’s head, tangling in the hair that Jeremy has convinced him to grow a little longer again.

Nick hollows his cheeks, slipping a finger in to caress along Jeremy’s cock, before he slips it, wet and slippery, behind Jeremy’s balls. He caresses along the tight ring of muscles, tantalizing circles until Jeremy arches his own hips and angles them so that Nick has no choice but to slip inside.

Jeremy groans, pulsing in Nick’s mouth and holding Nick down, fucking his mouth with that slow, early Christmas morning laziness that has Nick grinning around him and humming contentedly. This is so much better than the video games his parents used to leave outside his door, Santa scribbled on the tags, and meant as distractions until it’s late enough that normal people are willing and able to trudge downstairs to the real presents.

Jeremy grunts, urging Nick’s attention back to him, and Nick grins around his cock. He shifts on his elbow until he can get a better angle with his finger, taking Jeremy’s cock to the hilt and bending his finger to rub against his prostate. Jeremy shouts, his back bowing off the bed as he comes, deep and hot down Nick’s throat.

“Merry Christmas,” Nick whispers, moving up Jeremy’s body and kissing him, his mouth still warm and salty and Jeremy thrusts his tongue in, moaning in a half-hearted attempt to get it up again.

It’s actually a couple days before the actual holiday. With the World Juniors starting the 26th and both their parents wanting them home for the day itself, Nick and Jeremy had made a pact to use this one, rare day off to have their own celebration, door locked, cell phones off, and no plans to get out of bed until they leave for the airport tomorrow morning. But when Jeremy lets his head fall back against the pillows, looking up at Nick with a blissed, happy grin, and murmurs, “Merry Christmas,” Nick gets the feeling again, the one he feels all the way down in his toes, and he vows to have Christmas before Christmas every year for the rest of his life.

The feeling’s a little too much, the way Jeremy’s looking at him a little overwhelming, and Nick clears his throat. “Want a present?”

“Do I have more than one?”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Greedy bastard, eh?”

“No, it’s just, if I only have one, I can wait.” Jeremy backtracks quickly, and Nick rolls his eyes, leaning forward for a quick kiss. He leans over the side of the bed, shivering as the quilt drops to his lap and the cold air teases at his skin. He grabs the gaudily wrapped green and red box and drops it quickly into Jeremy’s lap before burrowing back under the quilt and rubbing his arms.

“Open it.”

Jeremy doesn’t have to be told twice, sitting up and ignoring the cold air as he tares into it. “You didn’t?” He laughs, a real, deep, down in his chest laugh. “You remembered.”

“That you wanted to live in Minnesota ‘cause you have an unhealthy obsession with _The Mighty Ducks_?” Nick raises an eyebrow. “Something like that’s kinda hard to forget.”

Jeremy turns it over in his hands to read the back and Nick leans forward to kiss his hip, the only part of him that he can reach while still laying down. “It’s the whole trilogy,” Nick offers. “Even the terrible second one where they have to play Iceland. As if Iceland produces good hockey players or something.”

Jeremy laughs, setting it aside and scooting down in the bed to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“You wanna watch one?”

“Now?”

Nick shrugs. “Sure. Although, I’d prefer the first. It’s the best.”

“But-” Jeremy stammers. “We’re naked.”

“So?”

“So, they’re like, eight in that movie. Isn’t that perverted?”

“I wasn’t planning on jacking off while watching it.” Jeremy blushes and Nick sits up. “Wait, wait, did you use to -? While watching-?”

“No, no.” Jeremy protests. “Well, sort of?” He tries to pull the quilt over his head, but Nick wrestles him for it, straddling Jeremy’s body so that he can’t get away.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“It’s really embarrassing.”

“Even better.”

“Nick, please.” Jeremy squirms, but Nick holds tight and Jeremy finally gives up, closing his eyes as if, maybe, if he can’t actually see Nick, this will somehow be less bad. “My first crush was on Charlie. So, I’d, you know, imagine things, in the shower.”

Jeremy is so red that Nick’s not sure he won’t combust right here, and he knows that his own laughter isn’t helping but, Jesus, this is too precious, and he rolls to the side, bringing his knees to his chest as he laughs. “Your first fantasizes were about _Charlie Conway_?”

Jeremy crosses his arms, looking down at him and huffing. “It’s not _that bad_.” But Nick doesn’t stop laughing and Jeremy prods him with his foot. “Who was yours?”

Nick stops, taking a deep breath. “Nick Lidstrom.” It’s Jeremy’s turn to laugh and Nick tackles him to the bed. “Fuck you, at least mine was a real person.”

Jeremy pauses, taking deep breathes as he tries to regain the ability to speak. “Yeah, but, is that why you play him on the Xbox _all the time_?” Nick blushes and Jeremy grins. “That’s kinky.”

“Fuck you.” It’s all Nick can think of to say to get out of this, and it’s not much, but Jeremy stills enough for Nick to lean down and kiss him. Hard and full and all the things he’s not ready to say yet, and when he pulls back, Jeremy’s just smiling at him as if he understands all of it, even the bit about Nick not being ready yet, so he just arches his hips a bit to push Nick off and to the bed next to him. They settle against the pillows and Nick kisses his shoulder. “Ready for your real present?”

“Only if I can give you yours first.”

“Okay.” Nick’s never been one to be humble about presents. He loves them. Loves receiving them, loves giving them, and he’s practically bouncing on the bed as Jeremy rummages around in the bedside table and deposits a smallish square box in Nick’s hands.

It’s a watch. Beautifully crafted and exactly what Nick would want if he was buying something for himself. “It’s perfect.” He lifts it out of the box and clasps it to his wrist, holding it out to admire it.

“Really? I wasn’t sure. But Sharpie said you’d like it.”

“You asked Sharpie about what to get me?”

Jeremy shrugs. “You’re hard to shop for.”

“Thank you.” Nick leans forward to kiss him. He doesn’t know if it’s for the watch, or for being comfortable enough with this to mention it to someone else, even if Sharpie does already know about them. It still means something. It still means a lot.. “Your turn.”

Nick had had a hard time shopping for Jeremy, too. He had wanted something more intimate than a flannel shirt or a pair of jeans or something, but jewelry’s hard. A watch is perfect, but Nick hadn’t thought of it, and he had spent hours in a jewelry store in downtown Rockford looking at men’s bracelets and things.

Finally, he had settled on a simple silver chain, like most of the guys wear. On the end of it sit two charms: a silver rendition of the Blackhawks Indian head and the number 27 that Jeremy wears when he’s up in Chicago. He’s never seen Jeremy wear anything around his neck, but Nick just hopes that that’s because he doesn’t have anything to wear and not because he has something against them.

Nick’s still worried that it’s too much, and he takes a big sigh of relief when Jeremy immediately slips it over his head and looks down at it as if he can’t take his eyes away. “I love it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Jeremy’s still looking at it, playing with it between his fingers. “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

Jeremy looks at him, worrying his lip, and taking a deep breath. “My parents are going to be in Buffalo, at the World Juniors. I want you to meet them.”

Nick almost chokes on the breath he inhales too fast. “Meet them, meet them?”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” It’s not a step that Nick ever thought Jeremy would take first. It’s one that Nick would have taken a long time ago, except Jeremy’s so skittish about people finding out, and Nick hadn’t wanted to push, but, the truth is, this means more to Nick than anything else Jeremy could ever give him.

 **Part Five. World Junior Championships. December 26, 2010 – January 5, 2011. Buffalo, NY.**

Tournaments on the national stage are like nothing else. Nick has dreams of winning the Stanley Cup, maybe a Norris Trophy someday, but, if he’s honest, he might want an Olympic Gold medal just as badly. He’s can’t really explain it. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, the languages being thrown around, the memories of winning World Junior gold last year, but for whatever reason, it’s just feels like something else to be here.

There’s a lot more pressure this year, though. Pressure to defend their title, on home turf, and pressure to make use of their last opportunity. Both Nick and Jeremy are nineteen, as are a good number of their teammates, and this is it for them, the last go around before they make the leap to the real International stage.

The pressure is in the back of Nick’s head from the moment he gets to Buffalo. He’s not generally a very stressed guy, but it’s there, when he takes the ice for their first practice, when his name is called to too much applause before their first game, and it’s there, distracting him, when Jeremy gets hit.

It doesn’t look like much, but the important hits rarely ever do. Jeremy doesn’t even go down for long enough for the trainer to leave the bench, but he doesn’t play another shift and when the period ends, he’s not in the dressing room.

Nick doesn’t have any experience with this. He’s never had to care for someone and watch him get hurt and be utterly powerless to do anything about it. He wants to hit something, hit _someone_. He wants some sort of control over his life, over Jeremy, over knowing that he’s going to be okay, but the only thing he can control right now is this game, this tied game, and so he doesn’t go out there and throw his shoulder around and he doesn’t use his minimal Finnish to rile anyone up. He never thought he had it in him, but, somehow, he locks away the part of himself that’s worrying and drawing worst case scenarios and just _wanting_ Jeremy, and focuses on the game.

It’s true, what they say about muscle memory, and Nick promises himself never to complain about a drill in practice again. ‘Cause that’s how he’s functioning now, because his body has done this hundreds, thousands of times, made plays, stopped odd-man rushes, shot from the point on the power play, and so he can do all these things even now, when his mind is locked away with Jeremy and the medical staff.

Overtime ends quickly and they’re all back in the locker room. There’s some celebrating, but it’s only game one and they have an early practice in the morning, so it doesn’t look out of place for Nick to shower and dress fairly quickly. He waves to his teammates and heads into the bowels of HSBC Arena in search of the medical suites. He’s played here before, but things are set up differently for the tournament, and he’s a little lost when he runs in to Coach Allain.

“Good game, Leddy.”

“Thanks, Coach. I was-” A hundred things run through his head. Excuses for why he’s here, looking for Jeremy, excuses like teammate and best friend and _need_. In the end he settles on simple, straight-to-the-point. “I’m looking for Jeremy. Do you know where the medical staff is?”

“I’m heading there myself. Come on.” And Coach puts a hand on his shoulder, as if he gets it, and Nick doesn’t know if that’s good, but he doesn’t argue.

Jeremy’s room is already pretty crowded when they get there, his bedside lined with trainers and parents. Coach walks right in, but Nick hesitates in the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt, not sure if he’s wanted in this circumstance, not sure if Jeremy needs to see him as much as Nick needs to see Jeremy.

Jeremy looks too pale, paler than he did that night he was called up to Chicago, and Nick’s heart wrenches. His shoulder twitches in sympathy pains for the way Jeremy’s is wrapped tightly in ice, his hand cradled loosely in his lap, and he lets out an involuntary little moan.

Jeremy hears him. His eyes are glassy and it takes him a moment longer than usual to focus on Nick, but he does and the smile that’s all relief, as if he thought that maybe Nick wouldn’t want to see _him_ , is all the assurance Nick needs.

“Hey,” Nick says, quietly in the rush of voices in the room, but they’ve always been attuned to each other and Jeremy hears him. Jeremy looks at him and Nick thinks things like hug and kiss and touch. He needs to prove to himself that everything’s going to be okay, that Jeremy is going to be okay, but the only part Nick can reach is Jeremy’s left foot. He places a warm hand on it, and Jeremy presses his toes into Nick’s palm. It’s enough.

“Hey.” Jeremy smiles, his mouth a little bit slower to respond on the right side and if it didn’t look so adorable, Nick would panic. “Did we win?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did. How you feeling?”

Jeremy tries to shrug, but he grimaces instead, using his good hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Mmm, I’m okay. I want to play.”

“Jeremy-” It’s warning and exasperation and everything his mother would say all wrapped up into one word, and that woman by Jeremy’s head _must_ be his mother. She’s pretty and small and not at all the hard-looking hockey mom that his own is, but she has Jeremy’s eyes and Nick already adores her a little bit for it.

Jeremy rolls his eyes, ignoring her and using his good hand to motion at Nick. “Mom, dad, this is Nick Leddy. Nick, these are my parents.”

This isn’t how Nick wanted to meet them. He wanted it to be over a nice dinner, where he’d be dressed in a suit and a tie instead of a Team USA hoodie and track pants, and his palm would smell a lot less like his hockey gloves when he shakes their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you.” LuAnn Morin’s handshake is strong and her smile is warm and inviting. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Nick has the insane desire to laugh. He wants to warn LuAnn that whatever she’s heard about Nick, as a player, as her son’s roommate, barely scratches the surface. This, he knows, is some sort of karma asskicking for having it so easy with _his_ parents. This is going to be a real coming out, that’s painful and messy, with consequences, and it doesn’t matter that Nick really cares this time, much more than he did with his own, ‘cause it’s the inevitable conclusion to this evening and there’s nothing, nothing, he can do but try and make it a little easier.

“I wanna play tomorrow. Just give me whatever painkillers you need.”

Coach Allain touches Jeremy’s thigh lightly. “Let the trainers decide that, yeah?”

Jeremy whines, low in his throat, and presses his foot into Nick’s hand. “Nick-” And Nick realizes that Jeremy isn’t going to make this easy, ‘cause he’s frustrated and tired and a little high on painkillers.

Nick pats his foot, but he also ignores him and turns his attention to the trainers. “How bad is it?”

The taller one, with slightly balding hair who must have been a hockey player in his day ‘cause he seems to understand exactly what Jeremy is asking, shakes his head. “It’s hard to tell. Could be a couple days. Could be a couple weeks.”

Coach Allain nods. “You’ll know in the morning?”

The trainer nods while the other one prods a little more at Jeremy’s shoulder, and Nick has a hard time tearing his eyes from the pain on Jeremy’s face.

“It’s too swollen to get a good look tonight. He needs to rest, sleep off the painkillers. We’ll run some tests in the morning.”

“Good.” Coach pats him before pulling away. “You hear that, kid? Get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeremy nods, valiantly keeping things together until their Coach is gone and the rest of them are left to sort this mess out.

“You can come home with us, honey.” And this is it. Nick knew that she’d say that, ‘cause it’s a mom think to want to help and take care of her boys. They’re at the age where mothers don’t get to do that for them very often anymore, and Nick knows that his mom would jump at the chance, too. But, the thing is, it’s not her job anymore, it’s _his_ and he really doesn’t want to have to break her heart tonight.

Jeremy doesn’t seem to care, though. The look he’s giving Nick says that all he wants to do is crawl into Nick’s skin and stay there and he doesn’t really care how this all goes down as long as that happens. Except, Nick knows that he will care, in the morning, when he’s rested and his shoulder’s hurting and his life doesn’t feel like it’s ending, and it’s really Nick’s responsibility to make sure that they don’t fuck this up irreparably.

So, Nick makes one last valiant effort to do this the peaceful way. “Um, that’s okay Mrs. Morin. All of Jeremy’s things are back at the hotel, and I’m sure he’d be more comfortable there.”

“We’ll stop by and grab some clothes for him in the morning. You don’t need to worry yourself.”

“I really don’t mind.” Nick tries, as earnest as he’s ever said anything in his life. “It’s no trouble.”

“Don’t be silly.” She waves him away, and Nick sighs. He really hadn’t wanted it to come to this, and he can’t be the one to do it, but Jeremy seems to have reached the same conclusion.

Jeremy’s taken his mother’s hand in his good hand, and Nick can see from here that he’s holding it lightly, his hands a little shaky from the pain and the medicine. “Mom, I love you. But, I’m tired and my shoulder hurts like hell and I feel a little dizzy and all I wanna do is curl up with Nick and make all that go away. I promise I’ll see you in the morning.”

LuAnn freezes, and Jeremy’s dad takes a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Son, did you say-”

“Yes.” Jeremy sighs, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes slipping shut, and Nick’s going to kill him for leaving Nick in this situation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Morin.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick can see the trainers trying valiantly to pretend like they’re not hearing a bit of this. “I know that Jeremy didn’t want to have to tell you this way, and I didn’t, either. We were going to tell you tomorrow, at dinner, but – um, no one wanted to see him get hurt and, well, I really care about your son. You have to believe me.”

The silence stretches. Nick’s starting to believe that he’s fallen down some sort of rabbit hole that never ends, when LuAnn finally shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

Nick glances at Jeremy, who’s looking pale and miserable, and he sighs. “Look, I really want to get Jeremy home and a little more comfortable. Can we meet tomorrow? Lunch? Jeremy should be feeling a little better by then and I promise I’ll answer every question you have.”

They look like they want to argue, but Jeremy shifts on the bed and his eyes fly open as a groan leaves him, and LuAnn places a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Sleep well.” And then they’re gone.

Nick’s inclination is to think about it. He wants to worry and pick it apart and understand exactly what she meant, but Nick doesn’t have time to obsess. Not when the trainers are handing him a bag of pills and listing off important instructions, and he has to spend the whole time he’s helping Jeremy back to the hotel reciting the instructions in his head so that he doesn’t forget and kill his partner with two blue pills too many or something.

Jeremy’s looking a bit more awake by the time he’s washed his face, slipped into sleep pants, and taken another couple of pills. Nick tries to leave him, to take a quick shower and attempt to make himself look a bit more human again, but Jeremy grabs his wrist and pulls him down to the bed.

“Thank you.” Jeremy presses a kiss to the back of Nick’s ear. “For dealing with my parents.”

Nick flinches. “We have some damage control to do tomorrow.”

“I know.” Jeremy bites his lip, his smile still a little lop-sided, and Nick’s stomach aches in that way it’s been doing since Christmas and, suddenly, Nick gets it.

“I love you, Jeremy.”

He would have said it a thousand times by now if he had known that Jeremy was gonna grin like that. A bright, drug-induced, lop-sided grin, and Nick’s stomach flips all over again. “You too.”

Nick wonders, later, if Jeremy had just been waiting for Nick to say it first, or if it had something to do with crossing the hurdle of telling his parents, or with getting injured, or if it had just taken time, but when Jeremy curls up with him and Nick turns off the lights, Nick gets the feeling, for the first time, that this might be all he’ll ever need.  
***  
Winning a bronze medal doesn’t feel quite as good as winning gold, but it’s still the first time that the US has medaled in back-to-back Junior Championships. It still feels weighty in Nick’s hands, and it still catches the light in that way only international tournament medals do. It still feels pretty damn good.

And it still deserves a party.

They’ve gotten rid of the parents and the girlfriends and the coaches, and now it’s just them, a team full of teenagers just on the cusp of something great, with beer and a hotel room and the whole night in front of them. Of course, it’s devolved into nothing more than video games and wrestling, but Nick’s happy to lean back in his chair and think about how much this reminds him of that last day of Rookie Development Camp in Chicago.

Nick almost wants to laugh at how hilarious those similarities are, and yet Jeremy is wiggling his eyebrow at him from across the room and nothing’s the same at all. Eight months on and Nick could never have imagined where that night would lead him, to this moment, here, now, and he wouldn’t change it if someone offered him a genie and three wishes.

Because Nick feels amazing. What had started out, ten days ago, as a nightmare tournament has ended up pretty fucking okay. Jeremy’s shoulder is still a little soar, but he only missed one game and even if he has to go back to Rockford and really let it heal and get stronger, he did get to play in the medal game and Nick got to hug him and give him a little kiss at the bottom of the game-ending pile. That hug would be Nick’s favorite moment of the tournament, except afterwards, when parents were milling around the locker room, Jeremy’s mom had come up to him and kissed him on the cheek and that, that is something Nick will never forget.

“You’re thinking about it _again_?”

Nick pulls his hand away from his cheek quickly, giving Jeremy a little smile. “Your mom loves me.”

“Whatever, man. She was so happy we won that you could have been Coach Allain for all she knew.”

“Your mom have a crush?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You’re lying.” Nick grins. “She loves me.”

Jeremy looks like he’s going to keep protesting, but then he leans forward and whispers into Nick’s ear. “She knows something good when she sees it.”

Nick just looks at him. _I love you_ is what he wants to say, ‘cause he has the crazy urge to say it all the time now, and even if it’s frustrating that he can’t, Jeremy seems to get it most of the time. Like now, when he takes Nick’s beer and sets it down on the closest surface. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Nick laughs, wondering how much Jeremy has had to drink. Jeremy is walking fine, though, as they leave the party and stop by their room to drop off their medals and pick up their coats.

It’s cold in Buffalo in January, and Nick wraps his scarf tightly around his neck, grinning in to it when Jeremy reaches over to take his hand. It’s late enough, everyone who’s anyone inside watching Team Canada’s breakdown to Team Russia, and the moon is out and flurries are falling on the trees, still weighed down by little white Christmas lights.

If there was ever a time when Nick feels young and brave and anonymous, it’s now, in the exact moment when he’s straddling the line between Juniors and the big leagues, in this city filled with the world’s next generation of superstars, Jeremy’s hand in his. It feels like everything, this moment, and Jeremy must be feeling it, too, ‘cause he doesn’t fight it when Nick stops and pulls Jeremy into his arms.

“This is perfect,” he whispers, and he means it, every last bit.

“Hmm.” Jeremy rests his forehead against Nick’s. “Your nose is cold.” He drops a kiss on the tip and Nick laughs.

“Wanna go back?”

“No.”

And so they stand like that, kissing and laughing in the snow, like tomorrow and everything that brings will be kind enough to wait for them.

 **Part 6. Regular Season. January, 2011. Chicago, IL.**

These are the things Nick remembers.

He remembers barely making it to the airport in Buffalo before getting the phone call calling him up to Chicago. He had sort of guessed this was coming from the moment Jason Cullimore had been placed on waivers, but he had managed to forget about it during the Tournament, so it had still come as a nice surprise.

He remembers yelling at the ticket agent to get the changes made to his flight, and he remembers Jeremy chastising him for being mean to the woman, before Jeremy had pulled Nick into the airport bathrooms and given him a quick goodbye kiss.

He remembers getting to Chicago with just enough time to spare for a warm-up game of soccer with Duncs, Seabs, and Soupy. His legs had been cramped, after the flight and the taxi ride to the rink, and it had felt good to stretch them out before taking the ice.

He doesn’t remember much about the game. A 3-2 shoot-out win over Ottawa that was a bit too close for comfort, but Nick only played 10-12 minutes of it and he had spent most of that time reminding himself that the ice surface has different dimensions in International play than in the NHL. Still, it felt good to be in Chicago for the first time since October.

He’ll always remember the _g8t game, love u_ text waiting for him when he got back to the locker room, reading it between the time when Sharpie thumped him on the back with a “great game back, kid” and when he looked up to find a slew of reporters gathered around his bench.

He remembers telling himself that it was his first game back, the first time he’s talked to reporters since winning the bronze, even though he knew that that couldn’t be it, that there was no logical reason for this many people to be interested in him, when Crawford had made 24 saves and Tazer had scored during the shoot-out.

And he remembers, vaguely, the picture being shoved into his hands and, although he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was, he had had some insane hope that it was something, anything else, so he did look down. And that’s where he still is, now, looking at the picture and running back through his day, trying to figure out how he could have known this was coming, trying to remember if there were any signs that he missed, but there weren’t.

“Leddy, do you have anything to say?”

The picture is taken from the perfect angle, so that Nick’s face is clearly illuminated by the Christmas lights in the trees, but all that can be seen of Jeremy is his back. Nick can tell, by the body type and the angle of Jeremy’s arms and the hair curling at his neck, that it’s Jeremy, but no one else could know that. No one else could get anything from this picture except that it’s Nick, and a guy, and that’s all that matters, now, that Jeremy is safe.

Nick doesn’t stop and consider. He’s been considering his whole life, and, if he’s really honest with himself, he’s known all year that he’s been building to this moment. Whatever anyone has told him, about being closeted in the NHL, about keeping his mouth shut and sitting down, the only reason he had ever taken head was because of Jeremy. And, now, that doesn’t matter. Nick can be who he’s always been meant to be.

He clears his throat. “I’m gay.”

The room goes silent. As if everyone was expecting him to deny what is so clearly in front of them, as if Nick was going to grovel and beg and do anything to keep himself out of the media cycle. They don’t know that this has been inevitable, from the first Lidstrom poster Nick had pasted on his wall, to the handjobs he had exchanged in high school, to the moment he had been introduced to Jeremy. It’s as much a part of him as hockey is, and he’s never been able to deny himself hockey, so why should he have ever expected to have hidden this?

“How long have you known?” The first question comes from a particularly dumb looking reporter on his left, and Nick would normally blow her off, but he just smiles and shrugs.

“Forever.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Nick fights not to roll his eyes.

“Did you know this picture was being taken?”

This time, he really does roll his eyes. “Don’t you think I would have dressed a little nicer if I had known I’d have an audience?”

“Who’s the other man?”

Nick would have answered questions about himself all day. He would have done an hour-long interview for _Sports Illustrated_. He would have sat down with ESPN and talked to them about what it means to be gay _and_ a hockey player, in some hope that he could play the role model for some little boy somewhere, learning to skate on his back pond and worrying about these strange feelings that he’s having.

He won’t answer that question.

He turns his glare on all of them at once, and his voice is low and he wanted it to be hard and lethal, but it comes out a little bit shaky. “I’m not going to answer that. I’m _never_ going to answer that. If you want to pick apart my life, have at it, but leave him out of it. Got that?”

The room sort of erupts at this point, as if they’ve been waiting for blood before they pounced on him, and Nick suddenly understands the shark-reporter metaphor. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t fight it as he’s dragged away.  
***  
Nick doesn’t remember much about Seabs pulling him out of the locker room or the drive back to Duncan’s place or the shower that he’s apparently taken. All he knows is that things seem a little less clear now, like all his convictions are a little less meaningful when he wanders into the living room and his face is on ESPN. The label says “First Gay Hockey Player” and Nick chokes out a laugh.

Seabs looks up, catching sight of Nick and patting the seat next to him. Nick crosses to it, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them.

“I’m not the first gay hockey player.”

Seabs chuckles. “No, you’re not.”

“That graphic is stupid.” He tilts his head to the TV and Seabs chuckles again.

“Nice photo though.” Seabs’ referring to the one ESPN has plastered on the left side. Nick’s senior yearbook photo, as if showing him actually playing hockey would afford him too much dignity.

All it does is remind Nick of that other photo. The one of he and Jeremy, wrapped around each other and looking _so happy_ and Nick will never be able to decide if it was worth it.

He groans, hiding his eyes in his knees. “I’m such an _idiot_. I just-” Nick lifts his head, frowning. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. That no one cares about a couple of nineteen year-old kids that won a bronze metal at the World Juniors?” He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous, ‘cause it means a lot to him, it means everything, but he really didn’t think that anyone else would care.

Seabs looks at him, reaching over to rub at the skin at the back of Nick’s neck. “They care ‘cause you’ve just done something amazing.”

Nick lets his feet slide to the floor and starts pacing. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? This whole thing is so _stupid_. I kissed him, then, ‘cause I thought I was safe, and it shouldn’t have to be _safe_. It should just _be_. I should just be able to be myself and – fuck.” Nick wipes at his eyes furiously, tears of frustration pooling there and threatening to spill over.

“Hey.” Seabs catches his wrist and pulls him back down to the couch, rubbing his arm and pressing a little kiss to the top of his head. “You can be yourself, now. I know you haven’t been here long enough to understand how amazing that is, but-” Seabs tightens his grip, as if this is somehow hard for him, too, and Nick glances up. “You’ve done something a lot of us have wanted to do for a long time, and we haven’t had enough guts to do it. You’re amazing, kid. The most amazing person I’ve ever known, and we have your back. The whole team. Okay?”

Nick frowns, and Seabs’ face lightens again as he laughs. “Duncs and I have been together since our AHL days. Haven’t you ever wondered why I live here?”

Nick thinks back on it, realizes that he’s never not seen Seabs here, but he has always assumed – what, exactly? That Seabs just likes it here? “That makes so much more sense,” he says out loud, and Seabs laughs again, a full, chest-deep laugh, and Seabs is a little odd, but Nick decides he likes him a lot.

There’s a knock on the door, and that seems weird, but Nick supposes they’re trying to shelter him or something, ‘cause when Seabs opens the door, he ushers in Duncan and Sharpie quickly before slamming it behind them.

“There are a ton of reporters out there,” Duncan offers, taking off his coat and giving Seabs a quick kiss. It’s so obvious, now that Nick knows what to look for, and he feels pretty stupid for not reading the signs before.

“Where are the kids?” Seabs asks, frowning.

“Finishing up with the media.” Duncan crosses to the couch and places a kiss to Nick’s hair, in the same spot that Seabs kissed a few minutes ago, and Nick can’t shake the feeling that he’s just adopted two gay older brothers. He grins as Duncan looks him over, as if there might be some sort of physical damage somewhere. “You okay kid?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get stoned or anything.”

“Smart ass.” Duncs ruffles his hair, before getting up off the couch. “I’m gonna put a pizza in the oven. You hungry?”

“Sure.” He gets up, stretching and feeling his muscles complain about not being stretched out after the game. He groans, and Sharpie pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thought you might want this. You left it in the locker room” He hands Nick his phone, giving him another quick hug, before following Duncs and Seabs into the kitchen. Nick trails behind, thumbing through his messages. A few from his parents, his high school buddies, the guys in Rockford. None from Jeremy, though. He shoots back a couple responses, before putting it down next to him on the table.

Every couple of seconds, he thumbs the power button, just to make sure, ‘cause it would really suck if it lost battery at this moment. It hasn’t, and yet nothing comes. Nick doesn’t really know what to do with that.

He knows that this has probably scared Jeremy away forever. He knows that, over the past eight months, Nick has gotten Jeremy to open up in ways he never thought he would but, this, this is probably pushing him over the edge. But Jeremy’s always been willing to face these things and, even if the answer is no, Nick always figured that he’d at least call to end things rather than leave Nick hanging in this awful silence.

Sharpie reaches a hand over to cover Nick’s. “He’ll call.”

Nick shrugs. “Maybe.” He takes a bite of his pizza. It’s cold, and Nick wonders how long he’s been sitting here staring at his phone. “Sorry, I’m not good company right now.”

They stare at him, like he’s just said the dumbest thing in the world, and Nick blushes. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m really tired and – I’m gonna go to bed, okay?”

“Okay.” Duncan frowns at him. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” He pushes his chair back and grabs his phone, waving stupidly before practically running to his room. He doesn’t know what his rush is, though, ‘cause when he gets there he just sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone and wanting to call for hours before he presses speed dial and holds it up to his ear.

“Hey.” Jeremy answers on the second ring. He sounds groggy, his voice hoarse.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I’ve been up.” Jeremy swallows, and it’s loud enough for Nick to hear. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nick shrugs. “There are a bunch of reporters outside of Duncs’ apartment.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nick’s stomach drops. This is it. The last thing he’s ever going to hear Jeremy say, and there’s nothing he can do. “Please, Jeremy, please don’t-”

Jeremy sighs. “I’m sorry about the picture. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to come outside with me, and I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I love you.”

“Nick, I’m not-” Jeremy pauses. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Nick grins, ‘cause Jeremy isn’t saying yes, but he’s not saying no either, and images start flying through Nick’s head, of years playing hockey side-by-side, kissing over the Stanley Cup, retiring in Minnesota someday. “This is our chance, Jeremy. We can really do this. It’s done and we don’t have to hide anymore. Isn’t that amazing?”

“You’re so brave, Nick. The bravest person I’ve ever known.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I love you, but I just don’t know if that’s enough, if I can do this. I need some time, Nick. Okay?”

“Yeah, ah-” And what else is he going to say? Demand an answer here and now and risk losing him forever? “Take as much time as you need. But, Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“I, I really need you. Here. With me. So, try to be quick, yeah?”

Jeremy laughs. “Yeah, I will. ‘Night.”

“’Night.” Nick drops the phone into his hand. He feels numb as he falls back onto the bed, cradling the phone to his chest, and drifting off into a fitful sleep.  
***  
When Nick gets up in the morning, it sounds like there’s a party in the living room. His head feels heavy, filled with something, and he takes a long, hot shower, his skin burning when he blasts the cold for a second before stepping out. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t really care, except it smells like waffles and coffee and his stomach growls.

He braves the living area, opening his door quietly enough so that no one knows he’s there until he bangs into a chair and then everyone’s staring at him. This must be what a deer in headlights _actually_ feels like, but then Seabs steps forward and pulls him into a hug. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Nick’s stomach growls again, and Seabs laughs. “What time is it?”

“2.”

“I missed practice.”

Tazer looks over at him from the couch. “We cancelled it today.”

“Oh.” Nick doesn’t know what else to say. Now that he looks around, almost half the team is here. He doesn’t know if he should thank them, or do something, anything, but Seabs just manhandles him into a chair and piles a stack of waffles in front of him.

Nick eats slowly, watching from the kitchen as ESPN plays on the big TV. He’s joined by Kaner and Tazer, who both pull out chairs and sit at the table with him.

“You’ve had some nice support from around the league.” Tazer offers.

Kaner grins. “Yeah. Crosby. Ovechkin. Briere. Kesler up in Vancouver. Wonder who he’s with?”

“Hopefully not Luongo.” Tazer shudders.

“Thank you for that picture, asshole.” Kaner punches Tazer’s shoulder and Nick is caught somewhere between grinning and keeping his stomach from flipping around every bit of waffle he’s already eaten.

He pushes away from the table, dropping his plate in the sink and wandering over to the couch. “They’re still using that terrible high school photo of me.”

“Yeah.” Sharpie laughs. “I asked our PR people to send ESPN a link to your photo gallery on the website. So far, nothing, but at least they’ve started showing footage of you.”

“I have a gallery?”

“Yeah. Everyone does.”

“Huh.” Nick shrugs.

“You wanna play something? I’m kinda sick of watching this.” Sharpie hands him a controller.

Nick plays a couple of games, but his reaction time is really sluggish and he can’t get his mind into it. So he passes his controller off to Soupy and curls his feet under him. These are, perhaps, the most competitive people he’s ever known, and it’s entertaining enough to watch them beat the crap out of each other at video games. It’s nice, being here, surrounded by his teammates, even if they’re only his some of the time, and he rests his head on Duncan’s shoulder, content to just be.  
***  
Nick’s daze lasts longer than he’d really like it to. For the next forty-eight hours, he’s really too busy to think much about anything. He holds a mini-press conference before his first practice, answering any and every questions that is _not_ about Jeremy and the media seems, in the end, as satisfied or as bored as they’re gonna get.

He’s never left alone. Either Duncs or Seabs is always at his side, and, in the few cases where they’re busy or in the bathroom or something, Sharpie is always there to step in. Seabs even tries to come in with him when Coach Q calls him up after practice.

“Seabs, get out.”

Seabs looks a little torn, but Coach Q doesn’t look too angry, so when Nick nods, Seabs slips out the door. Nick glances at his Coach and smiles the little half-smile that’s become his norm lately. “Thanks. I love Seabs, but, it gets a little stifling.”

Coach Q chuckles. “I’d imagine.”

“Um-” Nick glances around the office. It’s filled with pictures and memorabilia, little reminders of memories that Nick hopes to have someday, and he suddenly feels bad, ‘cause Coach Q is a good guy and Nick hasn’t made things easy for him. “I’m sorry. Not for coming out, but for the picture. I know I must be a lot of trouble.”

Coach Q waves him away. “Nonsense, kid. This team is about family, and whether you’re here or in Rockford, that doesn’t change anything.” Nick swallows. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Coach Q raises an eyebrow and Nick shrugs. “As fine as I’m gonna be.”

“You okay to play tonight?”

“Yes.” Nick almost jumps off his chair. “Yes, I’m fine. Please.”

“Okay, okay. Just wanted to make sure.” He gives Nick a quick, fatherly smile, before waving him away. “Now go. Out of my office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They beat the Islanders 5-0 and everything starts to die down. The media is more interested in the tight race to the playoffs in the West, and, with three days between games, the team has fallen back into normal routines. Except, Nick doesn’t know what normal life is supposed to be like anymore. All he does now is eat, sleep, and play hockey, and while that might be most teenagers’ dream, it doesn’t fill his time.

Nick misses Jeremy every second.

He misses him when he’s playing Xbox and he sees the little Tazer avatar. He misses him when he sees Duncs and Seabs exchange quick little kisses in the kitchen. He misses him when he lies awake at night, unable to sleep, running over and over the events that have led him to this point.

It’s been a week, and Jeremy still hasn’t called.  
***  
The only good thing happening is that Nick is playing well on the ice. He’s doesn’t know if it’s his way of taking out his frustration or something, but, this time around, he feels stronger, faster, better equipped to keep up with the play at this level, and everyone seems to be noticing.

Talk with the media has finally started to focus more on his skill than his sexuality. There’s an article in the paper about how he’s turning some heads with his play, and if it does include the line “Leddy is proving that being gay doesn’t exclude him from being a good player,” it is at least positive. It helps, too, that the team is winning as they head into their weeklong break in the middle of January.

The break is a little weird for everyone. They’re all used to spending their off-time training, so when Coach Q imposes a mandatory three-day rest period on the middle of the week, everyone’s a little lost.

Duncs, Seabs, and Nick are using the time wisely, playing a Mario Kart tournament and eating pancakes, when the doorbell rings. The doorbell usually signals evangelists, ‘cause everyone they know just walks in, but it rings again and Duncan pauses the game. The door is at a good angle from the couch, and Nick freezes before Duncs has the door halfway open.

“Mo. What are you doing here?”

Jeremy glances past him at Nick, before he pushes his hands into his pockets and looks down. “I need to talk to Nick.”

Duncan glances back at the couch, and Nick nods, dropping his controller and taking Duncs’ place at the door. He’s only wearing thin sweats and a Hawks hoodie, so he crosses his arms around his chest to keep out the cold and not at all to keep himself inside. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jeremy whispers.

“What are you doing here?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I talked to Sharpie. He said that you were doing okay.”

“I’m alright.” It’s mostly a lie. “How are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jeremy looks at him, his eyes big and blue. “No. That’s a lie. I’m not doing fine at all.”

Nick looks at him, really looks at him. He looks terrible, deep, dark circles around his eyes, his skin as pale as when he hurt his shoulder. Nick’s stomach churns. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Jesus, Nick, don’t apologize.” Jeremy’s voice breaks and he rubs a hand across his eyes. “Sharpie called me.”

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

“He didn’t tell me what to do. He just told me that I need to talk to you. He’s right.”

“Jeremy-”

“I don’t now what to do with you, Nick.” Jeremy breathes, and Nick stops talking, holding his breath even though the air is cold and his lungs burn. “You’ve screwed everything up. I had a plan, you know? I was gonna play hockey and nothing else was gonna matter and then you came along and – fuck, I don’t know. You don’t fit in. You never have.”

Nick’s lets out a short, clipped little laugh. “If it makes you feel better, you weren’t in mine, either.”

“Yeah, but-” Jeremy waves his hand, as if trying to encompass everything, the buildings, the street, _them_. “You’re good at this. This is who you are. You can just come out and-”

“Don’t.” Nick cuts him off. “Don’t, okay? Don’t tell me that this has been easy for me. ‘Cause I love you, Jeremy, and I’m sorry for what’s happened, but it has not been _easy_ for me.”

“No, no, I-Fuck, this isn’t coming out right.” Jeremy drops his head, kicking at the welcome mat with his shoe. When he glances back up, Nick can read every line etched into it. “I’m miserable. I miss you.”

Nick’s tired, his body aches for Jeremy, and he’s had enough of this. He wraps his hand in Jeremy’s shirt and pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together and grasping Jeremy’s hip with his free hand. He presses hard, licking his tongue along Jeremy’s mouth until Jeremy melts into him, groaning as his hands come up to cradle Nick’s waist.

Nick pulls back, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to Jeremy’s. “What’d you feel?”

Jeremy whimpers, closing his eyes. “Everything,” he whispers brokenly. “Everything.”

“Then what else could matter?” Jeremy shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss him again. It’s an apology and forgiveness and _I love you_ and Nick grins against his mouth.

When Jeremy pulls away, he drops his forehead to Nick’s, their breath sharing space. “Think they got what they needed?”

Nick frowns. “What?”

Jeremy turns his head, looking across the street at a couple of women with their cameras raised. “Them.”

Nick laughs. For the first time in days, he just laughs and it’s almost like crying and he lets Jeremy push him inside, ‘cause this is it. They’re going to be in this evening’s news cycle, and it doesn’t matter. This is everything. And all he can do is tighten his hold on Jeremy and pull him in for another kiss.


End file.
